


Moral Codes

by lordelannette



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Assassin Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bodyguard Steve Rogers, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Enemies to Lovers, Gay Bucky Barnes, M/M, Moral Ambiguity, Murder, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Questionable Moral Codes, Size Difference, Top Steve Rogers, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:13:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 52,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26245465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordelannette/pseuds/lordelannette
Summary: "You?" Steve asked, his shock a growing pool of ice in his gut, freezing him.His pause was all that Bucky needed. Bucky shoved his arm between Steve’s, breaking Steve’s grip on him. Before Steve could recover, Bucky yanked his legs out from beneath him and shoved his feet against Steve’s chest. There wasn’t enough force for Bucky to knock Steve over, but there was more than enough for the man to slide several feet away from him. He was snapped out of his shocked gaze as Bucky twisted on the ground, back on his feet in a flash.***One is paid to kill, the other is paid to protect. Somehow they’re given the same assignment.Obviously only one can win.... right?(AU- Assassin!Bucky/Bodyguard!Steve)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 125
Kudos: 246





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning: Violence associated with Bucky being an assassin. Naturally murder and violence ensues.

Bucky

* * *

Blood. 

The smell of it never quite got any easier to deal with. 

Despite the number of times Bucky had smelled it in his career, he could never rid himself of the natural recoil he felt deep in his gut. It was as though some instinctual part of him, etched into his genes, shrieked from being around the iron-rich smell of someone’s essence spilled out all around him, coagulated and stiff. 

The smell hung thick in the motel room as he crouched beside the dead man. The best he could manage was to ignore his own instincts as he hooked a finger under the dead man’s chin and turned his face toward him. Bucky’s dark eyes swept over the man’s features, his gloved fingers pressed to the unmoving throat. 

The man was dead, there was no doubt about that, but Bucky didn’t like to leave loose ends. He closed his eyes, ticking away the seconds silently as he waited, feeling no pulse against his fingertips. His work was clean. The job had been easy, perhaps a little too easy for Bucky’s taste, but that came with the territory. Schmidt had always told him that an easy job was one done perfectly, but Bucky hadn’t always agreed with his mentor. An easy job felt cheap, too easy, nothing to feed the desire for something better. He might be an assassin, one of the best there was, but damn it, he craved at least something resembling a challenge. 

Bloodlust? Maybe. Or he was just a man with specific skills who wanted to flex them to the limit every once in a while and really get the adrenalin pumping. He had long given up moralizing over what he did, at least to a certain extent. It had been years since he’d questioned the blood on his hands, and that was all due to his work of his contractor-- the Widow. 

Widow was ruthless to most, but Bucky demanded everything from the woman who handled his contracts. It was stupid for a hired gun to care about the morality and state of his target, even Bucky knew that, but he held to it. Principles meant so little in the modern world, especially for a hitman. 

Still, he refused to lose that last piece of his humanity. Let the rich and famous hire others who would kill without regard. Bucky refused to kill those whose hands were clean, even relatively so. Leave the cheaters, the scammers, the greedy, to their own devices. Bucky craved the men and women who used the blood, sweat and tears of others to further themselves. Child slavers and rapists, drug lords and terrorists, those who were soaked in the blood of their fellow brothers and sisters to get ahead. Those were the ones Bucky desired the most, the ones he sought to find on the other end of his blade, or at the receiving end of a bullet. It was easy to tell himself that these were the same people who had the most security and constant protection at all times. The sort who could afford hired men and women, who killed for money. Those with the best defenses, the ones who would challenge him the most. It wasn’t morality, it wasn’t ethics, it wasn’t the last screaming kicks of his humanity, refusing to go down easy. It was simply professional interest. 

As easy as that. 

But tonight, his work was done. Bucky pushed against the ground, careful not to stain his gloves, and took to his feet. There was nothing left for him in the tight confines of the motel room. Dead men tell no stories, and they almost never gave up their secrets. 

Then again, he had been hired to deliver what would be a blatant murder, and one from a killer who knew what they were doing. No one had seen him arrive, and no one would see him leave. The cut had been quick and clean. The man had probably had little time to understand what was happening before his life drained out of him. A simple drive of the blade between the man’s ribs as he’d stooped over to grab the remote for the TV. The dead man had never seen Bucky, had never heard him. Death had entered the target’s rented room, and the man had never known. He had gone into the void confused as his punctured heart gave out. 

Bucky stared down at the body and gave a thought to what the official line would be once the murder was discovered. The victim was, by public account, a small-town businessman who traveled to build contracts and keep relations with partners. As far as Bucky knew, even the dead man’s wife wasn’t aware of the trade in drugs and human trafficking. How long would it take before the police uncovered that? How long before the dead man’s wife and family were drowned by the media coverage, hounded by a merciless press that would smear them through the same shit and mud that the dead man deserved? 

“Peter Manuel,” Bucky said, remembering the man’s name again. Oh, what did it matter what his name had been? He’d fitted the criteria Bucky had set, and even that hadn’t been enough. He’d heard the last gasp of air from the man and made sure he’d been dead. Bucky would leave and make a call, informing Widow of his success, and the money would be dropped into his account. By the time anyone knew of the dead man’s passing, he would be a long way away, safe from even passing scrutiny. 

Bucky quietly slipped from the room, through a back window that latched on its own when closed. Like the ghost he pretended to be, he moved away from the motel and into the nearby surrounding stretch of woods. Careful to disturb nothing, and glad for the hard ground that craved a little moisture, Bucky maneuvered through the dense foliage. 

As a boy, before his life had changed forever, he had wondered what it was like to be a tiger or wolf, to prowl the woods, to stalk prey, and to feel strong. Turns out, it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. 

His ride was like so many others he’d used before. A car, bought with cash, with a license plate that was by all measures, genuine. Not that it mattered, Bucky always made sure to obey all traffic laws while driving. And while the vehicles were never flashy, they were in good shape, and he made sure there was nothing wrong with them that would draw attention from law enforcement. 

Sliding into the driver’s seat, he took the disposable phone from his pocket and placed it in the cupholder. Professional paranoia told him to wait before making the call, not willing to ping even the prepaid phone on any towers while he was near the scene. Instead, he drew out the paper map from the glove compartment and looked it over. 

There were a number of places within a few hundred miles that would serve as a place to rest. Bucky firmly believed in taking at least a week or more between each hit. A workaholic attitude might be useful in the business world, but it led to sloppiness and mistakes for someone who required a constant sharp edge. Not that the most recent hit had been trying, it was just the principle of the matter. Sand and warm waters were what he wanted most. He traced his finger over the paper map, untraceable compared to phone apps, and ran it in different directions. 

After a few idle seconds, it fell on a city on the coast, and from its size on the map, he imagined it appeared large enough to offer more than a few attractions. “New Haven,” he murmured softly. It didn’t exactly roll off the tongue, but it would work just fine for a short break. It would take several hours to reach the town. 

Bucky would need to deposit his temporary car in a safe place in another direction than New Haven, and then purchase another away from the drop off point. His employer, the Red Room, would pick the car up, but he would buy the next one privately, away from prying eyes. He might work for them, but he’d be damned if he allowed them to track every little movement he made. 

No, he knew how to get hold of Widow if he needed to, and Bucky would give her the new number once he’d obtained another phone, and that was fine by him. 

“Vacation, here I come,” he sang pitifully to himself as he turned on the car and quietly pulled out. 

***

It took longer than he’d planned to finally reach the outskirts of New Haven. The spot on the map hadn’t done justice to the sheer scope of the city. While it was certainly no sprawling metropolis, buildings still sprung up from the core of the city toward the sky, reflecting back the orange glow of the rising sun. It was still early enough that the traffic was thin as he maneuvered his way along the highway and turned off onto an exit ramp. 

Once upon a time, the city might have been a bustling fishing port, but it had far outgrown that in the intervening years. Bucky had spotted a harbor while on the highway, but the buildings at the center were the showy, towering monuments to big businesses. As the city developed, its core might have grown to its commercial heights, but it became more residential as it spread out. 

He’d escaped to the far suburbs of New Haven, aiming for the cluster of small businesses and apartments squeezed in the middle. First on his list was to find a place to stay. In the modern-day, it was a little trickier to find places that accepted cash. While that might have been a problem for him once, the solution came in the form of ever-useful prepaid cards. He always took pains to make sure the cards didn’t look prepaid when he purchased them, not wanting to draw attention to himself. 

Yet as with most hotels, the one he found had a tired looking receptionist who barely glanced at him or the card. She rang him up, gave him his card back, and wished him a pleasant stay in a standard, friendly tone. The room itself was nothing special, but that was fine by him. There was little to separate one hotel room from another. They weren’t homes, just waystations for him to plan and prepare while on a job, or to blend in among normal people while he was off work. All that mattered to him was the shower at the back of the room, nestled in the corner. 

Dropping his bag onto one of the two beds, Bucky pulled his clothes off as he made his way to the bathroom. After fiddling with the shower to get it to the scalding temperature he preferred, he slipped in. The heat of the water flashed against his skin, but Bucky ignored it even as his skin turned red. Scooping up the bar of soap provided by the hotel, he scrubbed over his arms, chest and down his stomach. He always scrubbed a little harder than was necessary after a job, but just like the burning hot water, it was a ritual. And Bucky was all about his rituals.

After nearly twenty minutes of vigorous scrubbing, he stepped from the steaming shower and wrapped a towel around his hips. Finally, feeling clean enough to check himself over, he stepped up to the mirror and wiped the condensation off with the other towel. He was never quite sure why some part of him always expected to see something different. Bucky’s reflection hadn’t changed since the last time he looked. The same dark brown hair hanging past his ears, that he could easily tie back during work. His face, while stony in expression, was well-shaped, with a strong jaw, something that he always used his hair to hide as to not draw attention to himself. He wasn’t cocky, but he knew he wasn’t average. Average height, perhaps, and of average build, never bulking himself up or starving himself either. His muscles fit his frame, his stomach flat and chest firm, nothing to give away the deadliness of the skill he held locked away in his mind. 

Then there was the  _ problem _ , the things that would always give him away in a second if he didn’t alter them. 

Any remnant of the black eye makeup was washed down the drain but his still dark brown eyes flicked over his reflection, sweeping over his naked body one last time. Reaching up, he pinched the flexible lens in his left eye and pulled it free. With a seamless motion, he plucked the right lens from his other eye. He cast both contact lenses into the toilet before turning back to the mirror. Bright icy grey eyes, as sharp and shiny as the finest slices of magnesium, stared back at him. They weren’t the eyes meant for blending in, and they definitely weren’t the ones for hiding. These stood out like beckons of light in the darkness and he  _ hated  _ it. 

With a sigh, he rustled through his bag again and pulled out his clothes. The sun was still coming up, and he wanted to witness it before he finally turned in for the day. Once he was dressed, he grabbed a pack of cigarettes and stepped onto the sidewalk outside his room. He lit one, sucking the smoke deep into his lungs. 

It was one of the few vices he allowed himself, and only when he wasn’t working. His head grew fuzzy as his body rushed to deal with the sudden blast of nicotine, and he stood there, letting the sensation roll through him as he watched the sky light up further. There was a shuffling noise, soft and barely audible over the growing sounds of cars and the singing birds. Bucky noted it but kept his eyes on the sky. He knew everyone liked to compare it to fire, but then again, he also thought it was rather appropriate too. As though the sun had to burn away the night in order to soar high in the sky and bring light and warmth with it. Sometimes harsh, brutal action was necessary to bring about good things. 

The back of his neck tingled and without looking, he knew someone was beside him. 

“Your money,” a voice rasped. 

Bucky turned toward the person who had crept around the edge of the building to approach him. The voice was distinctly male, but it didn’t belong to an exceptionally large person. Whoever this strange attempted mugger was, they wore a ballcap, turned down, obscuring their face. Bucky’s eyes swept over their stance and the worn-out clothes, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette as his gaze fell on the rather large knife held in the man’s hand. 

“Give me your money,” the man repeated, wagging the knife for extra emphasis. 

Bucky took another hit of his cigarette. “And if I don’t?” 

“You’re kidding me, right? I’ll fucking stab you.” 

Bucky glanced at the knife again. It was certainly an impressive weapon, and it would sure as hell do a lot of damage. It just wasn’t very intimidating when the tip of it shivered and shook from its owner’s trembling grip. “Sorry to tell you, but I’m not very intimidated at the moment,” Bucky informed him. 

“I’m not fucking around!” 

“Maybe not, but if you were serious about stabbing me, you would have done it the moment I showed you any sort of fight. Then you could have taken my wallet and my room key without fuss and helped yourself to whatever valuables I have in my room. But you haven’t done any of that, so one can only assume you’re not as deadly as you think.” 

The man sputtered. “Just give me your money.” 

Bucky looked down. “And your stance is terrible.” 

The would-be mugger hesitated. “Wh-what?” 

“With a stance like that, anyone with any knowledge whatsoever could take advantage of it.” The man’s lips parted, but Bucky was faster than his confused words. Lashing out, he hooked his foot behind the nearest leg and pulled it toward him. Hand still clutching the cigarette between his fingers, Bucky took hold of the stumbling man’s wrist, twisted, and yanked the knife free. The stranger stumbled and fell as Bucky shoved him, putting him off balance and sending him slamming onto his back on the concrete sidewalk. Now holding the knife in his hand, Bucky twirled it beautifully between his fingers. “A bit like that.” 

Wide, terrified eyes stared up at him and Bucky noticed them beginning to swim with unshed tears. The cap had fallen off, and he could see that ‘the man’ wasn’t a man at all. Christ, what was he, fifteen at the most? 

Bucky sighed, flicking the cigarette away. “Jesus, what the hell is someone like you doing trying to rob people?” 

The teenager’s lip wobbled, gaze locked on the knife. “Please don’t...I wasn’t really going to stab you.” 

Bucky slid the knife into his back pocket, shaking his head. “I know you weren’t, I told you that. Answer my question.” 

The boy’s voice cracked, either from stress or hormones. “Got to. They’re gonna kick us out.” 

Bucky raised a brow. “They? Us?” 

The boy pushed up from the ground, sitting up. “My aunt and me. She’s got three jobs, but she...they’re gonna kick us out.” 

“Evict you?” 

“Yes.” 

Bucky nodded quietly. He was a goddamn assassin, killer of men, not a nursemaid. 

“You’re...not going to hurt me, are you?” the boy asked, looking up again. 

Bucky snorted, reaching into his jeans and pulling out his wallet. “No. But you got no business trying to threaten people for money. That isn’t the kind of life you want to lead kid, trust me.” 

“I know. My aunt would beat me if she knew. Always told me I was better than that,” the boy said miserably. 

“Yeah, I could have told you that. Couldn’t even hold the knife steady when you threatened me. Now, this isn’t going to help in the long run, I can’t help with that. But it should relieve the current situation,” Bucky said, pulling the thick pile of cash from his wallet and tossing it down onto the boy’s lap. 

The kid looked up, eyes growing huge as he clutched the money in one hand. “What? You’re kidding me.” 

“I’m as serious as I was about your stance. Don’t know how much is there, but take it home to your aunt. Tell her whatever you want, but my advice? Tell her the truth, tell her everything. She might whip your hide for it, but you owe your mom the truth. She’s working her ass off to keep you safe and fed, and you’re out here trying to be a thug, even if it is for good reasons. So get your ass home, and stay clean.” 

The kid scrambled up from the ground, unable to decide if he should look at the money still clutched in his hand or at Bucky. For one horrifying moment, he thought the kid was going to rush in and hug him. And to think, this same kid whose eyes were spilling over with tears of gratitude had, five minutes prior, tried to act tough. “Thank you,” the kid said instead. 

“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t do it again. Otherwise, the next person who fights back might stick the knife in your gut,” Bucky told him. 

“I know.” 

Bucky watched him for a minute. “What’s your name?” 

“Peter Parker.”

Bucky snorted, of course it was. He’d killed one Peter only hours before. Why not spare another Peter now? “Well, Peter, go home. Get out of my face. And I’m keeping the knife.” 

Peter nodded, his mouth opening and closing uselessly before finally turning away. Bucky watched the teenager stop at the corner of the building, facing him. Bucky shooed him away before the kid could say anything else, not wanting to hear his gratitude or have to see his teary eyes anymore. It wasn’t like the money was an issue, and it was probably more than Peter’s aunt made in several months of working. Bucky could afford to drop an easy couple of ten g’s on some idiot kid to keep him from getting himself killed because he thought he was tough. 

Once he was gone, Bucky wrinkled his nose at the now empty space where Peter had been. Honestly, what did someone that obviously soft think they were doing? With a snort, he turned his attention back to the sky overhead.

“God damn it,” he muttered. The kid had made him miss the sunrise.

* * *

Steve

* * *

As with every morning, Steve rose with the sun. He kept an alarm as a matter of habit, but inevitably woke up minutes before it went off. 

Steve rolled toward the edge of his massive bed, grabbing his phone and canceling the alarm before it could go off. As he got to his feet and stood tall, he stretched his arms above his head and felt the muscles in his shoulders and back pull pleasantly, groaning in relief. Rolling his head, he bent forward, letting his lower back and upper legs have their moment to stretch. Standing straight once more, he swung his arms, loosening the muscles and encouraging the blood to flow before finally leaving his bedroom. 

The hallway outside his room was dark but grew brighter as he approached the far end. Bright red and orange light poured in from the windows that made up the east wall of his living room. One of his favorite things about the place had been that so much of it was open. The living room blended seamlessly into the hallway and into what was supposed to be the dining room. It wasn’t like he had enough people over for him to need a dining room, but it felt right to have one. 

Walking into the kitchen, he grabbed a bottle of water and drained its contents as he stared out toward the rising sun. In truth, he preferred the hazy purples and blues of twilight, but the rising sun did manage to give him a feeling of boldness, the day had started, and so should he. 

There was still plenty of time before he had to leave for his interview. It had been weeks since he’d left his last job, and he’d been growing restless. Although he had plenty of money stowed away that could have lasted him months if he had to, Steve would prefer not to have to touch it. He kept his savings account bloated in case he ever needed to depend on it in an emergency, not just because he couldn’t find work. 

His shower was as quick and efficient. Within minutes he was out and drying himself off. Just like his ability to sleep anywhere and wake up completely alert, Steve had never been able to shake the military’s habit of quick showers. Then again, his months overseas hadn’t helped, where water wasn’t exactly plentiful, and you had to be quick, so others would have the chance to wash away the sand and blood. He’d just stepped into his room when his phone rang. There was only one person he knew who would call him at such an early hour, and he didn’t bother looking at the display before swiping to answer. 

“What’s up, Sam,” he said, tucking the phone between his face and shoulder. 

“Good morning to you too, sunshine,” he replied. 

“You’re calling earlier than usual,” Steve noted. 

“Probably because I didn’t want to catch you on your run. I beat you by about… what, ten minutes?” 

Steve glanced at the pile of clean clothes folded neatly on the chair next to his bed. “Five.” 

“And you’re no fun when you’re out for your jog.” 

“Just because you can’t keep up with me, doesn’t mean I’m no fun. And hey, I talk to you just fine whenever you call.” 

“Right, until you reach that weird state where you just zone out, and I have to yell at you to get your attention again.” 

Steve chuckled, snatching the pair of running shorts off the top of the pile. “My deepest apologies.” 

Sam snorted. “Anyway. You have that interview today, don’t you?” 

“Yea, I do. Apparently, some rich guy wants me specifically.” 

“Is this a high-profile client or just a random contract? And are you sure it’s legit?” 

Steve frowned at the reminder of the client he had a few years back that had mistaken Steve’s independent contracting as fancy legality terms for a personal escort service. “I looked him up this time, he’s legit.” 

“You’re positive?” 

“Ninety-nine percent, Sam.” 

Working as an independent contractor was tricky enough, depending on the field. When what he did amounted to ‘bodyguard’, no matter how he might spruce it up with words, it could get even trickier. Hence the whole escort debacle that had sent Sam rolling on the floor and snorting beer through his goddamn nose. Of course that wasn’t to say Steve was opposed to a nice roll in the hay with someone when he needed to let off steam, Steve just wasn’t in the business of whoring himself out literally. Or any type of action of mixing business with pleasure. 

Because that’s just asking for a clusterfuck of  _ chaos  _ and that was something that Steve wasn’t about. 

Steve looked around his bedroom. The only thing in his room that wasn’t put away was the pile of folded clothes on his chair. Yet even that would be stowed away in his closet before he left for his morning jog. He was a creature of habit, and he lived by schedules and routines. When you arranged your life down to the most minute detail, you kept control of what happened to you. Anything outside your control was something you had to accept, but everything within had to be structured and maintained. 

“Well good, because I don’t want to have to come save your ass again,” Sam teases him from the other side of the line. Which is quite hilarious when you put into perspective that Steve’s six foot three and a good two hundred and seventy pounds easily towers over his friend. But old habits never die. They had met almost two decades back, when Steve was nothing more than a scrawny teenager years from reaching his growth spurt. Back then Steve hadn’t been the type that was successful at defending himself, so somehow Sam had taken on that role himself. A bond had formed relatively quickly and nothing would probably ever break it. 

“But that’s not why I called,” Sam’s voice is echoing in his ear and from the tone of his friend’s voice, Steve is already growing in his mind. “I want to know about your date.” 

Steve closed his eyes. “Sam, please.” 

“Which confirms that your silence after you were supposed to have your date tells me it didn’t go well.” 

“No, it did not go well at all.” 

“She not your type?” 

“Apparently, I wasn’t hers. She said she wanted someone with ‘energy’, who was ‘interesting’. I didn’t fit either criteria.” 

Sam hums in consideration. “She does know you’ve been in actual gunfights before, right? A war? You know, things that are all flash and bang.” 

“Apparently, I didn’t act like it.” 

“Well, no, I guess you don’t.” 

Steve shrugged at the begrudging disappointment in Sam’s voice. It wasn’t the first time that someone heard ‘former Army Special Forces and current bodyguard’ and expected something he wasn’t. Someone with passion and vigor. Steve wasn’t like that, though, preferring to avoid a fight if it wasn’t necessary, and thinking things through rather than throwing himself into the fray. His measured, analytical ways were what kept himself and others alive in moments of stress and danger. Maybe it wasn’t all that exciting, but that wasn’t his problem. 

Again, Sam hummed thoughtfully. “I do have a friend up that way…” 

Steve’s eyes widened. “Sam, no.” 

“Who has a brother.” 

“No.” 

“Who saw you, heard about you, and apparently is very interested in meeting you.” 

Steve sighed. “No, Sam. No matchmaking. No dates. You know the rules.” 

Sam grumbled. “I could find you someone if you let me! I mean, for God’s sake, Steve, you have a bigger dating pool than I do, I think I could manage.” 

“Being into both men and women doesn’t mean my chances of success are higher. It just means I have to wade through more people, and you know my feelings on that.” 

“Ugh, such a romantic.” 

“Not really.” 

“That was sarcasm!” 

“It better have been,” Steve quips back, grinning like a maniac. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a run to take before I have to go for the interview.” 

“Yeah, yeah, go get sweaty and put on a show for the neighbors.” 

Steve rolled his eyes, snatching his headphones off the bedside table. “I do not put on a show.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

Steve walked out of his room. “ _ Byyyeeee _ , Sam. Always a pleasure.” Sam gave a quick laugh into the phone, before he said his own goodbye and hung up. Shaking his head, Steve bluetoothed his headphones and started up his music. He was still shaking his head as he pulled on his running shoes. 

He checked the clock one more time before tucking his phone away. Steve still had a couple of hours before his meeting, more than enough time to get a good run in, take another shower and leave. It was a plan. 

A straightforward, concise plan. 

***

Two hours later, he found himself entering the front office of the Alexander Pierce Charity Foundation. His eyes swept the grand waiting room, noting the luxurious carpet leading from the door to the front desk. The dark wood paneling didn’t appear fake to his eye, and he could hear the soft sound of light music coming from hidden speakers. It was a cursory glance, but the decor struck him as particularly opulent for a charity foundation. 

Though he would admit, it did have a warm and inviting feel to it, as though all it was missing was a fireplace to drink and talk around. The woman behind the counter raised her head up from the computer and smiled broadly at him. “Good morning, welcome to the Alexander Pierce Charity Foundation. How may I be of assistance?” 

Steve resisted the urge to fiddle with his tie. While some of the interviews he went to were casual enough to allow him less formal wear, this one did not. Just a glance at the inside of the building told him that wearing one of his best suits was a good call. It was just a shame he hated the damn things. 

He tucked his tablet under his arm. “Yes, I have an appointment with Alexander Pierce.” 

She nodded, her gaze sweeping over him. “Name?” 

“Steven Rogers.” Her eyes lingered a moment longer before turning back to the computer and typing it in. 

It still struck him as odd that philanthropists like Alexander Pierce would need personal protection. Those were supposed to be the type of guys that were untouchable, loved by everyone. Steve didn’t deal with charities, but he’d been working in the New Haven area long enough to know the guy’s name. If there was a charity, then Alexander Pierce’s fingers were sure to dip into that pie. 

The woman nodded. “Mr. Rogers, it appears you’re a bit early.” 

Steve chuckled. “Better early than on time.” 

That earned him a wink. “I think Mr. Pierce will appreciate that sort of attitude. You are in luck, however, as his last appointment ended earlier than we expected. He can see you now.” She stood up, walking around the desk. “If you’ll just follow me, I can take you to his office.” 

When she turned and walked off, Steve followed after her. In a manner born of both professional habit and nothing more, his eyes swept over her. Her outfit was just professional enough to fit with the surroundings, knee-length skirt with a jacket. Yet her skirt was just a little too tight, and he’d noticed her blouse had been just a little too low cut. Her desk had been immaculate, but he’d noticed little figurines pushed to one corner, colorful cartoon characters cavorting about. It left him the impression that she was a woman who followed the rules but preferred to do so on her own terms. 

They stopped at the end of the hall, and she pushed open the door after a light knock. Much like the waiting room, the office they entered was richly decorated. While the waiting room had been warm and friendly, the office was flashy and obvious. The plants hanging near the large window brought some life to the room, but the chandelier, and the small, probably marble, tables from the looks of them were overbearing. Just like the woman’s, Alexander Pierce’s desk was immaculate, the top of the solid piece of furniture organized carefully between paperwork and his computer. 

Pierce himself stood up from behind the desk, his smile wide. This was a man who apparently was not afraid to buy an expensive, tailor-made suit, and was more than comfortable in it. He stood about half a foot shorter than Steve, and while he was certainly thinner, his broad shoulders filled out the suit well. Pierce’s gaze as Steve approached, was curious, and crinkled at the corners when he smiled. 

“Mr. Rogers is here to see you, sir,” the woman told him. 

Pierce smirked. “Trying to rush me through my appointments today, Miss Sarkissian?”

“No, sir, Mr. Rogers showed up only a minute ago.” 

Pierce turned his attention to Steve, winking. “Well, a punctual man and a lucky one. I’ve been waiting pleasantly for our appointment for the past ten minutes.” 

“That’s what Miss Sarkissian was telling me,” Steve said with a glance toward the woman. 

“I’ll leave you two to it. If you need anything, just give me a ring,” she said, glancing between the two men before slipping out of the room, closing the door behind her. 

Pierce smiled in the direction of the door. “She’s wonderful, isn’t she? Only had her here for six months, and she’s honestly one of the best people I’ve worked with in years. Rare to find a woman so organized.” 

“I’ve known quite a few organized women in my lifetime,” Steve told him. 

Pierce blinked and then let out a little laugh. “Ah, my apologies. That was exceptionally poor phrasing on my part, I should have said ‘person.’ Not often you find someone detail-oriented, meticulous and as organized as she is. The poor woman spent the first three months here organizing my digital files, giving her a raise after that was no question.” 

Steve was a little comforted by that. He’d begun to suspect Pierce’s attitude toward women might be a little old-fashioned. Not that it would stop Steve from taking the contract, but he liked to be prepared for whatever sort of client he was dealing with. 

Pierce approached him, holding a hand out. “But my inability to speak well aside, I’m Alexander Pierce.” 

Steve took his hand, shaking it. “Steven Rogers.” 

“Well come in, have a seat. No need for us to sit on formality completely and stare at each other mindlessly while we talk business. Would you like something to drink?” Pierce asked as he rounded the desk. 

Steve approached one of the two sleek leather chairs in front of the desk. “No, thank you.” 

Pierce sat down smoothly, motioning to a steaming cup beside him. “I wish I could say the same, but if I don’t have my daily requirement of coffee, I begin to fizzle out by the afternoon.” 

“Have you considered sleep?” Steve asked as he too sat down. 

Pierce chuckled. “That’s what my doctor has told me more than a few times, and even Miss Sarkissian has chided me for working far too late. Sadly, it just doesn’t seem to fit into my schedule.” 

Steve sat comfortably, elbows on the armrest with his hands in his lap. “Can’t say I know very much about charity work, I didn’t realize it was so demanding.” 

Pierce smiled. “Well, when you try to keep yourself as busy as I do, it’s a little inevitable. Some might say I try to do too much, but the people this foundation helps would probably disagree.” 

“It’s a little vague, isn’t it? The name of the foundation,” Steve said. 

“Ah, well, while there are a few organizations that are born directly from this foundation, many of the charities we work with are independent. We work with them, consulting and helping to connect them with certain resources, as well as providing some of our own,” Pierce explained. 

“I see, so you’re more of a command center or helpline for these charities.” 

“Something along those lines. That doesn’t mean we don’t have our own charities. I’ve quite recently put my time into another project as we try to get our latest charity up and running.” 

“Busy man,” Steve noted. 

Pierce’s smile flickered. “Yes, and apparently, I’ve managed to make a few enemies along the way.” 

“Wouldn’t think charity was a dangerous business to get into.” 

“You wouldn’t think so, would you? But I suppose there are always going to be people who like to stand in the way of progress and help for their fellow man. It’s recently come to my attention that at least one group or person, with enough resources at their disposal, would like to see me dead, or at least out of the equation.” 

Steve nodded. “Hence why you’ve contacted me.” 

Pierce turned to his computer, clicking something. “According to your own words, you served in the military, the Special Forces specifically, for eight years.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“As well as some rather vague mention of working with international groups as well.” 

Steve smiled at that. “Things I can mention but can’t detail.” 

“Confidential?” 

“More or less.” 

Pierce continued to scroll down. “And a rather impressive list of combat, weapon, and investigative skills at your disposal. It seems Uncle Sam was rather generous when it came to training you. Obviously you didn’t choose to stay. Why?” 

Less so when a bullet to the right thigh had required not only medical attention but weeks of physical therapy. Apparently, the higher-ups had decided that the injury was enough to take him out of active duty. Rather than get parked behind a desk for the rest of what he’d hoped to be a long career, Steve had chosen to let his contract end. The joke was on them though, he’d recovered completely, and was able to use his skills to those who wanted them. 

“I was getting to the age where you either move up toward command, or you find something else to do. I chose the second option.” 

Pierce nodded as if he understood. “And with this impressive lineup of skills, you could have had a foot in the door of any mercenary group. If even half of what you put down here is the truth, or there’s more you didn’t write up, I’m sure more than one group was looking you up.” 

“Mercenary work wasn’t to my taste,” Steve told him, truthfully. It was, in Steve’s opinion, all too easy to go from ‘mercenary group’ to ‘war crimes group.’ There were a few who at least pretended or tried not to violate every moral and legal code in the book, but he didn’t trust how far that would last. He might have more or less chosen the same job, but he was doing it on his terms, with his requirements in place. Steve had yet to meet or know of a mercenary group that was completely discerning in who they’d take work from. 

Pierce turned away from the computer with a smirk. “And instead, you took the country up on its offer to all military men, went back to school, got yourself a degree in business, and here you are.” 

“That’s correct,” Steve said. 

Alexander Pierce looked him over, though what question he was trying to answer, Steve didn’t know. “Does the company just have you as its sole employee?” 

Steve tilted his head slightly to the left, refusing to frown. “Yes, sir. I’ve thought about bringing more on, but that requires an investment of time and money before I’m completely sure about whoever I would be working with. In the meantime, if the contract needs more, I’ll subcontract. I’ve only had to do that twice.” 

“You seem rather confident in your abilities,” Pierce noted. 

“I am.” 

Pierce smiled at that, and Steve knew he’d won. “Well, then let’s you and I have a little conversation about the sort of plan you’d like to put into action to keep me above ground and not six feet under,” Pierce said. 

Steve pulled his tablet out, unlocking the screen. “It would be my pleasure, sir.”


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky

* * *

Barely twenty-four hours into his stay in New Haven, and Bucky could already feel himself growing restless. 

Sitting outside of some small, oceanside bar, watching the sunset give way to twilight, he found his mind whirling. He’d hoped finding those parts of the city filled with life and energy would be enough to distract him. It had worked before, in the past. He’d needed only to find the noisiest places, usually filled with plenty of drunk and horny people, and he could lose himself for a little while. Bucky wasn’t one for getting drunk, even on his off time, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t averse to having a little fun. And if he was feeling lost and maybe that irritating emotion known as loneliness, he would take someone to bed with him. But as he stared over the railing of the bar’s outside deck area, he wasn’t in the mood for a bit of fun. 

He could hear the sounds of traffic from the other side of the bar. The bar owner hadn’t chosen the best location for a hot spot. It was too far away from the clubs and popular restaurants, closer to the industrial section, really. Still, while looking out on the water as it lapped against the rocks only a few feet below him, Bucky would admit it was a beautiful location. Still, his mind would not rest, and he could feel an itch deep within his soul. 

Sometimes his mind would try to force him to deal with the past, to wonder what could have been, what might have been. Those were the times when he grew most restless, and he began to lose the cool composure he relied on so much in his life. The last thing he needed was to start thinking too heavily about the past or the future for that matter. 

Sighing, he pulled out his new phone and messaged Widow with their agreed code. It was his signal that not only was he ready for a new contract, but she would have a means of contacting him. Widow would know it was sooner than usual for him, but there would be no questions, there never were. 

His evening had been going smoothly, undisturbed, until a human shadow spread out over the deck from behind him. “Oh, sorry.” 

Bucky turned, looking at what was perhaps the biggest human being he remembered ever personally seeing. Not only that, but he was built like a tank. Almost immediately, Bucky pegged him as a military man. Not just because of the man’s sheer size or the way he kept his blond short and neat, but how the man held himself, his spine straight and shoulders tight. There were muscles on that man that Bucky had never seen so defined and thick, and there was just  _ something  _ about the guy that made Bucky know he could fight. Something that made Bucky consider him. 

“Didn’t realize someone else was out here,” the man continued. 

Bucky met the man’s gaze steadily. “Well, it’s a public bar, so no need to be sorry.” 

The man snorted, raising his beer. “True. Don’t know a lot of people here, so I come here when I want to have a drink and some quiet without being stuck in my house.” 

“So it’s always like this then,” Bucky said, glancing back toward the empty bar. 

“Pretty much. Don’t know how they stay in business, but maybe I only come at the dead times. I take it you don’t mind if I join you?” 

“It’s a whole deck, with plenty of room, I’m not going to stop you,” Bucky said, shrugging easily. 

“Yeah, but you’re at my table.” 

Bucky blinked down at the corner table he was sat at, raising a brow. “I am?” 

The man chuckled. “Yeah. See, I like that spot for a lot of reasons. For one, it has the best view. And it also lets me keep an eye on the door.” 

Was the man paranoid, or just trained? Bucky couldn’t decide. Either way, those were the very reasons why he’d chosen the seat himself. “I’m not giving up the seat, but you can share the table if you want.” 

“I can agree to those terms.” 

Bucky watched the man as he pulled out the chair opposite and sat down with considerably more grace and care than he would have expected from someone that size. His biceps grew as he tilted up his beer bottle to take a drink, and Bucky found himself going from alert and suspicious to more than a little intrigued. 

He always had preferred bed partners who were considerably larger than him. Considering his skill set, he was never in any danger if someone tried to get too aggressive, but he liked them big and rough. Bucky wasn’t going to assume the man across from him was interested in anything more than the view and maybe some conversation, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t  _ look _ . 

“I’m Steve,” the man said. 

“Call me Bucky,” he supplied in return. A name he fashioned for himself, a name untraceable and not tied to any database in the world. 

“Well, it’s nice to meet you. Hope I’m not interrupting.” 

Bucky shrugged lightly. “Nothing to interrupt. I’ve just been sitting here, watching the sun set, and having a drink.” 

Steve turned to the glowing horizon. “It’s almost my favorite part of the day. Half-light is my favorite.” 

“Interesting,” Bucky hummed, taking a drink. “Most people tend to like the dawn.”

Steve chuckled. “Probably why there are so many poems and sayings about it. But that’s when the world is waking up, coming to life. I like it better when I can feel the world calming down, maybe even going to sleep soon.” 

Bucky glanced over his shoulder toward the buildings towering above the roof of the bar. “If you ignore all the people coming out to party and start trouble, that is.” 

“True, it does take a bit of imagination. But when I was really little, I lived with my mom in this apartment in Brooklyn. Sometimes we would sit out on the fire escape and watch the sun go down. I was little enough that I thought the fireflies that came out were stars that lived down here,” Steve explained, eyes still on the ocean. 

Bucky watched him carefully. What was it about quiet bar settings that brought out the nostalgia and intimate conversation between strangers? He’d been all over the world and the country, and it was always the same. As soon as he allowed some strange man or woman to approach him, they wanted to produce lyricals about their childhood memories or current views on life. It always boggled his mind considering if these people knew who he was… or  _ what  _ he was, they’d steer far from him. 

Steve glanced at him, grimacing. “Sorry, didn’t mean to dump on you.” 

Bucky shrugged. It’s not like he cared. “No offense taken. Not really much I can share in return.” 

“No happy childhood memories?” 

“Not really.” His dad had been a thug, some low-level crony who was kept around for his strength and cruelty. That same meanness managed to find its way home, with both Bucky and his mother on the receiving end. It wasn’t like his mother had been a whole lot better. She’d been a woman intent on avoiding the worst parts of her life, no matter that it required large amounts of alcohol or drugs. His only saving grace had been school and the old man who had lived across from them. Mr. Phillips had been there through so many of the hard times in his younger years. 

Until he wasn’t. 

“That’s a shame. I lost my mom when I was eight. She got real sick. I came here with my grandparents afterwards. My grandpa went a year later from a tumor they didn’t find until he was a few months from dying. And my grandma passed a few years back. But even then, I got to have a few good memories to carry with me about them,” Steve said. 

Bucky had good memories, but he wasn’t in the business of sharing them. His past was his own, and he’d never found himself in the mood to share. Plus, it seemed like Steve was in a good enough mood to share his own story. In a strange way, it was nice to hear about someone else’s life, and especially one who had been thrown out to the world before puberty had even thought of dropping in. It was by no means an excuse for Bucky to spill his guts, but he could appreciate the story all the same. 

Steve chuckled. “My friend would give me so much shit if he knew I was out here chatting up a stranger. He always tells me that I talk too much to strangers.” 

Bucky smiled at that. Strangers didn’t remember someone weeks later, they were just a body that would be there one moment then gone the next. “Well, sometimes strangers are the best people you can talk to.” 

“Says the man who hasn’t shared anything at all,” Steve said, eyeing him. 

Bucky hesitated, knowing that at some time, he was going to regret this. He didn’t like talking. Not to strangers, not to anyone. Human kind always wanted to get close,  _ too close _ , and when people got too close, they died. But this man was a stranger. He’d never see Steve again if he talked because he certainly wasn’t going to dish his heart out then keep him around, invading into all the secrets of Bucky’s life. It wasn’t something he could afford. Or tolerate. 

“I had a shit childhood. Mean dad, deadbeat mom, and the people who took me in after my parents died weren’t exactly what you’d call good people either. You seem like you’re in a good mood, and I don’t see the point in bringing it down by talking about my miserable childhood.” 

Steve watched him for a moment. “Fair enough. Everyone has things they don’t like to talk about and shouldn’t. Better to talk about what you do for a living?” 

“Consulting,” Bucky lied, the answer quickly leaving his tongue. 

“Oh?” Steve’s brows rose. “Independent work then.” 

“Yeah, I deal with security systems.” It wasn’t a complete lie. A lot of his work  _ did  _ have to do with security systems and protocols. Though Bucky’s job was to get  _ around  _ those things. 

Steve grinned at that. “Well, would you look at that, we have something in common. I’m in the security field as well.” 

Bucky prepared to have to elaborate on his cover job. “Oh?” he asked in mock surprise. Obviously Steve did something that kept him as sharp as he was, as strong too. “No offense, but you don’t look like the sort to be in security.” 

Steve patted his own chest. “Yeah, I know, I look like I should be muscle. Which is exactly why that’s what I am. I offer my protection services to people in need of help.”

“So, a bodyguard,” Bucky surmised. A fucking  _ bodyguard _ . Something in common?  _ Pfft _ . More like the other way around. They were complete and utter opposites. Bucky’s grip on his glass tightened, and he straightened up, giving Steve a quick up down. 

Could he take Steve? More than likely. Bucky was trained in ways that made him move like water. He was dangerous and brutal and unless Steve was somewhere in the same calibre, (which the odds were slim against) Bucky could bring him down easily. 

“A  _ glorified  _ bodyguard,” Steve corrected. 

Bucky cracked a smile again. He could appreciate anyone willing to take a jab at themselves. There was a fine line between self-deprecating humor and pure self-denigration, but the cocky smirk on Steve’s face told Bucky he wasn’t about to get a ‘woe is me’ sort of follow-up. 

“My apologies, a glorified bodyguard then,” Bucky grinned. 

“And one who got himself a new contract today, so here I am, celebrating.” 

Bucky hummed. “You come to a little bar with hardly anyone in it, and that’s celebrating?” 

Steve shrugged. “You grow to appreciate the peace and quiet when you get a little older.” 

“You can’t be much more than thirty,” Bucky guessed, undershooting by a few years. 

“Even when I was twenty-five, people thought I was five years older. I’m thirty-four,” Steve told him. 

Bucky raised a brow. “Thirty-four? Never would’ve guessed that. And running your own business? I know a few people who say you should at least wait until a nice respectable, responsible age before going into business on your own. Say...fifty.” 

Steve snorted. “Oh, everyone’s always talking about how dangerous and how big a gamble opening your own business is, but it can’t be any worse than being shot at. And, wait, how’d you know I was independent?” 

“Between you getting excited at meeting an independent contractor and your comment about you offering people protection services. Just kind of guessed,” Bucky said. 

“Someone pays attention,” Steve nodded, impressed with a touch of approval in his voice. 

“Just like someone who likes to sit in the corner of a room pays attention,” Bucky shot back. 

Steve gave him another grin. “A man who  _ really  _ pays attention. Consider me doubly impressed.” 

As restless and unnerved as he’d been feeling before Steve showed up, Bucky was beginning to enjoy himself. Through just their brief conversation, Steve had managed to paint a picture of himself that was of both an enduring and yet unflappable person. Bucky had met many of each different type, and overlap between the two didn’t happen often. Either the enduring person also happened to be the insufferable type, picking at their emotional wounds like a scab, or the unflappable type had just been the sort who had yet to meet something that really tested them. 

A buzz in his pocket brought him back to reality. The warmth of pleasant conversation with a good-looking stranger evaporated as soon as he pulled his phone from his pocket. Sure enough, it was a message from Widow, with the returning phrase she used when she had a set of jobs for him to pick from. There was an added tag at the bottom telling him it was urgent. 

“And just like that, the real world comes in and steals our moment,” Bucky said, sliding his phone back into his pocket and standing up. 

“Work-related?” Steve asked. There was no missing the disappointed look on his face. 

“No rest for the wicked,” Bucky joked, but really it wasn’t a joke at all. Strangely, he couldn’t find the strength to look at Steve, keeping his gaze turned to the size toward the bar. 

Steve snorted. “From what I’ve seen, they don’t want to rest.” 

No, perhaps not, but that’s why there were people like Bucky scouring about in the world. Doing the heavy work. “Thank you for the company, Steve. Didn’t realize idle chit-chat about childhoods and work was what I needed,” Bucky told him truthfully. 

“Yeah, maybe I’ll see you around here again.” 

“Maybe you will,” Bucky said easily, lying for the third time. 

But the truth was, he never stayed in one place. Odds were that Steve would never see him again and it was a good thing, too. Because then, he’d never get attached. 

***

Returning to his rented room, Bucky slipped the door closed behind him. 

Pulling his phone out, he stared at the number and gave a heavy sigh. In truth, if he hadn’t been interrupted, he would have eventually tested the waters to see just where he could get with Steve. The man had been big, tough from the sounds of it, and incredibly handsome. Bucky certainly wouldn’t have minded a chance to find out if Steve were also the type to pin someone to the nearest surface and fuck them silly. 

The phone rang after he hit the speed dial, followed by Widow’s clipped voice. “Good evening. Back on the clock earlier than I expected.” 

Bucky raised a brow. Since when did Widow ever care if he was or wasn’t on the clock? “I was overcome with a sudden need to keep myself busy,” he said, pocketing his room key. 

“Fortunate for us then. I believe I have something that would be right up your alley.” 

Strange phrasing, but even stranger was the use of the singular. “One thing? We talked about this WIdow, I prefer to pick my targets.” 

“In this, there was only the one, and I claimed it on your behalf before someone else grabbed it. Quite a lucrative one. The client is paying double your normal fee.” 

Bucky frowned. “You chose it for me?” 

“As I said, it’s right up your alley.” 

“Since when do I have an alley?” Bucky asked. He could swear he heard a smile in her voice. 

“No one at Red Room will pay attention to anything save your success rate. As your handler, I notice patterns where others ignore them. That includes your particular...taste in targets.” 

Fair enough, unnerving, but fair. “And just what makes you think this new target you’ve chosen for me fits that bill?” Bucky asked. He fished one of his laptops out of the bag on his bed and powered it up, waiting for the files to sync. 

“It’s a man who needs to die, and by all accounts, deserves it in every way someone can.” 

He opened up the secure program to see the files for the target. He didn’t like that Widow was all too aware of his proclivities when it came to his targets but she was, afterall, the one who pulled the strings for him specifically. The Red Room frowned on choosy agents, and if they saw his habits, they might get the wrong ideas as well. The last thing he needed was for someone to think he’d developed a bleeding heart. Not that it should matter all that much in his opinion, it wasn’t like he didn’t do the jobs he took. 

“The files I’m sure you’ll want to take a look at are still coming in, so you might not see them at the moment. However, based on what we do have, I think you’ll like, or rather not like, what you see,” Widow continued. 

Bucky grunted as the beginning of the file popped up. Even from skimming the top half of the first page, it was nothing good. Nothing but greed and power and yep, Bucky’s blood already thrummed in excitement. “This is already more information than we normally get. Just what sort of client are we dealing with here? Who made the hit?” 

“One who would apparently prefer to remain anonymous. And one who means business. He wanted the best, and even when we presented the price for the best, he offered double.” 

It wasn’t unheard of in Bucky’s experience. He’d started officially taking hits just shy of his seventeenth birthday, and he was twenty-eight now. Through the long decade he’d been working for the Red Room, he’d been witness to clients who paid far more than the standard prices. Those were usually given priority over any other job that might come in and passed along only to the best agents available. 

Bucky’s eyes flicked up to the date on the file and frowned. “This is not a new assignment.” 

“No, it’s not. The target lives in a high population area and is constantly watched by others. There are very few opportunities to get close to the target, and apparently, he has already been alerted that his life is in danger. This will make him more cautious, and we can’t afford to have any screw-ups. I didn’t keep this one just because it fits your standard, but because we need someone we can trust on it,” she told him. 

“I’m touched, Widow,” Bucky muttered as he looked over the information. 

“Don’t be, I rely on facts and figures, and you are the best fit for this job.” 

Bucky kept his snort to himself but smirked as he scrolled past the picture of the target and onto the city. “New Haven,” he said in disbelief. 

“Another reason I wanted this one for you. Though I can’t be certain, you’ve never liked telling anyone where you are while you’re between jobs, but I assumed you hadn’t gone too far from the last target’s location and were reasonably close to this one.” 

Close enough that he could walk where the target worked, and then a taxi to where the man lived. Bucky wasn’t a man who believed in the works of destiny or any intelligent, purposeful higher power for that matter but that didn’t mean he didn’t occasionally see the odd coincidences in life and find himself wondering  _ just  _ a little. “I’m reasonably sure I can make that distance without assistance,” he told her, setting the laptop aside. 

“Then you’ll accept?” 

“Is there a time limit?” 

“The client didn’t specify. I imagine the client would prefer it as soon as possible, however.” 

“Of course. I’ll accept it. We’ll be in touch.” He ended the call with a tap of his finger on the phone’s screen. His decision to put himself up for another contract had been a whim, or more accurately, a desire to get away from his own thoughts. 

His mind drifted back to the absurdly friendly and yet interesting man he’d met at the bar.  _ Steve _ . Again Bucky could only find himself amused at the way the universe worked. Distracting him from his thoughts with someone interesting, only for his own impulsiveness to take even that distraction away. God save him, he was only twenty-eight, and the back and forth was already getting taxing. 

Hell, it had been exhausting for as long as he could remember. It didn’t stop him from continuing, but sometimes, just sometimes, he found himself wondering if there was ever an end to the line. 

His eyes fell on the computer screen, and he hummed. “Well, Alexander Pierce, I hope you’ve made your peace with God.”

* * *

Steve

* * *

Once again, Steve found himself in Alexander Pierce’s office. 

Thankfully, he didn’t have to wear the tie to go with his suit but Steve figured he should try to be somewhat presentable for the actual job. It was all well and good to show up at the interview with his best clothes on, but if he was going to be keeping Pierce safe, he didn’t see the point in getting dressed up. 

Pierce held a phone to his head and held up a finger. “No, Arnim, I understand completely. Yes, I’m aware that they’re in a bind at the moment, but until money frees itself up magically, there’s not much we can do. Uh, no, that’s a terrible idea, one we’ve argued about for a week now.” 

Steve busied himself by looking around the office while he waited for Pierce to finish his call. Against the far right wall was a small cabinet that looked like it was used mostly to house liquor bottles. More interesting to Steve were the pictures hung on the wall above the cabinet. All of them included Pierce, most of them showing him with others holding up large checks or signs for the charity he was apparently helping. Another showed Pierce receiving a fancy looking plaque, a big smile on the man’s face, while one had him on a rather large looking yacht. Then, even more impressive, Pierce had pictures of him side by side with various presidents, from Trump all the way down to Ford. 

“I’m done arguing about this. Just tell them we have to search through our current funds before we can commit to anything. Yes, well, she knows we’ve got a lot on our plate right now,” Pierce continued, finally ending the call. 

“Having fun?” Steve asked, turning back to Pierce. 

The man gave him a weak smile. “Let’s just say that things aren’t always as smooth around here as I like to make them out to be. That was one of my associates, Arnim Zola. Apparently, a friend of his who runs another charity would like our help. Problem is, with the new charity we’re getting up and running, we don’t exactly have the money to spare at the moment.” 

Steve frowned. “Would this new charity be what’s got the target on your back?” 

Pierce tilted his head in consideration. “I would certainly hope not. Its focus is on homeless youth and trying to get them off the streets. I don’t even want to think about what sort of person would want to kill me over that.” 

Steve knew plenty of possible candidates that could fit the bill. He’d seen it lots of times while in the Middle East. The radical groups there liked to get to people when they were young, use them, and abuse them, warping their minds while they were still malleable. That sort of behavior translated to the States as well. Gangs with any real caliber and brains would pluck homeless and desperate children off the street and use them to hustle drugs, weapons, and other less savory things. “You mentioned in our meeting yesterday that an attempt had already been made on your life,” Steve continued. 

Pierce sighed, nodding his head. “Tried to shoot me in public, if you can believe it. I had just finished an interview about the new charity, when someone walked up to me, aimed a gun and pulled the trigger. I’m honestly lucky the weapon jammed, or I probably wouldn’t be sitting here talking to you.” 

“It jammed,” Steve repeated, raising a brow. If this man had a hit on him, certainly it would be someone more skilled. A jammed gun sounded juvenile. If a gun failed, it was either a terrible quality weapon or the person firing it didn’t know the first thing about gun maintenance. That gave credibility to the idea that it was someone with a grudge to bear. Especially because the attempted murder had been so public. It absolutely reeked of desperation. 

Pierce fiddled with his phone. “The police are looking into it, but the man who tried to shoot me ran off as soon as he realized the gun wasn’t working. It’s been a week since then, and I’ve not heard back from the police. I honestly don’t think they’re taking it too seriously, though the rumors of a vigilante around New Haven probably isn’t helping things.” 

No, Steven imagined it wouldn’t help very much at all. There had been no confirmation about whether or not there was an actual individual at large, but there was plenty of whispering. And even without police confirmation, most people were noticing the frequency of activity popping up around the city. If the police really were trying to track down the culprit, they would be a little too preoccupied to look into some random man trying to kill Pierce. 

“I have a security team, of course, anyone who has a business, for profit or non-profit, is going to want some sort of protection. But they’re not someone like you, who’s used to this sort of thing,” Pierce told him. 

They had more or less already dealt with Pierce’s reasons for Steve’s presence, but he knew nervous rambling when he saw it. His mind traced what he knew, ticking off things he would have to check over before he’d feel comfortable moving forward. “Security systems?” Steve asked. 

“My home one was recently updated, but in all honesty, I never thought twice about having it checked here. We’ve never had any problems in this area, let alone in the building,” Pierce admitted. 

“You might want to consider either having the security company come in, or bringing in an independent consultant to check it over,” Steve told him, thinking of the man he’d met the night before. Bucky had been his name, a nickname obviously, and now Steve regretted not getting a business card or something. But Bucky’s presence had been a bit more than intoxicating so the thought hadn’t approached Steve at the time. Bucky’d seemed so vulnerable out by himself and drawing no attention as he’d stared out at the waters. The man was certainly the type to turn more than a few heads, but something about him said he didn’t appreciate the attention. Steve hadn’t been able to put his finger on why, as Bucky hadn’t exactly been chatty, though he hadn’t actively tried to make Steve leave either. But eventually, Steve had caught sight of something sad in the man’s dark eyes as he evaded topics about his past, and smiled at Steve’s lame attempts to be charming. It was kind of a shame the man had to leave so quickly, Steve would have wanted to know more about him. 

“Do you think that will help?” Pierce asked, interrupting Steve’s thoughts. 

Steve nodded. “Some will even test the security systems if you let them. Then they can tell you where the problems are and how to fix them.” 

Pierce fidgeted. “That sounds...a little pricey. And while I’m sure your services are worth it, you weren’t exactly cheap.” 

Steve resisted the urge to point out that it was for a particularly good reason. Not only could Steve provide consultation on every sort of security protocol except electronic, but he was also willing to put his life on the line for the person hiring him. Personal, direct protection, both willing to kill or be killed for someone’s sake, didn’t come cheap. “Well, that might be the case, but it’s far better than someone finding a weak point in the system and coming in to kill you when you’re on the toilet,” Steve told him bluntly. 

“What a lovely thought. I’ll have to look into some consultants. In the meantime, I’ll call the security system company and have them do their own inspection beforehand,” Pierce said, jotting a note down on a pad of paper. 

Steve nodded. “I’ll forward a list of consultants I’ve worked with in the past. I can’t guarantee the price, but I can promise they’re very good at what they do.” 

“Anything else?” 

“I’ll have to see your security team,” Steve said. 

Pierce stood up. “Now that I can accommodate right away.” 

Steve followed after him, knowing full well there was a chance this would be the least likable part of the job. Private security forces were a mixed bag of people, no matter where he went. There were those who did their best, but their hands were tied. They didn’t mind having someone from outside come in to help. The rest were a grab bag of people who just liked the idea of having the power to bully others, those that didn’t give a flaming shit what they were supposed to do, and those who were just there for a paycheck. Each of those last sorts was the type, who for whatever reason or another, resented someone like Steve coming in to take over. 

Crossing the room, they entered another hallway, this one bare of any decoration or life whatsoever. Pierce led him into a closed room, which required a number to be punched in before the door was opened. Steve made a mental note to make sure he got the number if it wasn’t given to him by the end of the day. He would have preferred an updated keycard and number code system installed as well. That at least would have provided more protection than a simple combination lock or a keycard system. 

He was led into a small room with a few monitors on the wall. A man sat behind the desk. The security guard was in decent shape, which was a relief to Steve. There was nothing worse to him than finding the lives of others depending on someone who looked like they hadn’t even glanced at a treadmill in ten years. “This is Brock Rumlow, the supervisor of the security team. I guess you would call him the head of it,” Pierce told him. 

Rumlow swung himself out of his seat to stand. He was the type of man that stood with his legs spread apart, crossing his arms over his chest. The top of his head came to Steve’s chin, but the brief, insolent flash on the man’s face told Steve just what sort of person he was going to be dealing with. “I really think this is a waste of your money. We have things under control here,” Rumlow all but spat. The look he sent Steve’s way was barely short of being a sneer. 

Steve held out his hand. “My job is to ensure Mr. Pierce is safe while both here and out of the office.” 

Rumlow gave him a sour look and begrudgingly took his hand. It was a shake that was too forceful, too strong as if he was trying to intimidate Steve. “Yeah, but here, we’ve got things covered.” 

Turned out, the security team was a small group of three men who happened to be out for lunch. It was risky for only one security man to be at the office but Steve didn’t bother giving his two cents just yet. Especially when after he pointed out the severe lack of contingency plans and Rumlow flat out told him to go fuck himself because they were doing their jobs. Just not well enough up to Steve’s own standards. See, this is the reason why Steve preferred to operate independently. 

With the introductions out of the way, Pierce surprisingly led them all toward the main doors. “Right, now that we’ve got that settled, I’m afraid I have a meeting with the Chief of Police later. He and I have a few things to talk about, and then I have a meeting with Director Fury at the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility.” 

Steve looked up, frowning thoughtfully. “Director Fury?” 

“The one and only. Have you heard of him?”

Steve nodded. “I’ve met him a few times. Mostly during my time in the service, but I’ve gotten the occasional call from him asking for me back.” 

The look in Pierce’s eyes changed, as if he was looking at Steve in a new light. “He’s certainly a… straightforward man. Not the easiest man to get along with, especially when things aren’t necessarily going his way. He’s a tricky one and I’ve gotten the impression over the years that he doesn’t quite enjoy my visits.” 

That certainly sounded like Fury. 

“I’ll walk you to your car then,” Steve said. 

“I can do it,” Rumlow protested. 

Steve shook his head. “It’s better for someone who knows the system and how things are supposed to look to stay here and watch the feed. Not only that, but I will have to insist on going with Mr. Pierce from this point forward.” 

Pierce’s eyes widened just slightly. “What? But I always travel on my own, I…” 

Steve frowned. “It’s easier to keep an eye on you if I’m with you as much as possible. We can place security around your home so you can still have your privacy, but in all honesty, you hired me to keep an eye on you. It’s hard to do if I'm in a car behind you.” 

Pierce looked as though he might protest, but then deflated. “Ah, very well. Better to be safe than sorry, right?” 

“Exactly,” Steve nodded. 

They strode out of the building together, with Pierce walking behind. It took only a few moments for Pierce to lead him to his vehicle. Steve’s eyes slid down the streets and parking lots around them as they approached the car. Nothing looked out of place, which Steve took to be a reasonably good sign. All indications pointed toward someone messy who wanted to kill Pierce, so he shouldn’t expect anything fancy or subtle. Yet he wasn’t so dismissive as to completely ignore the possibility that someone might decide to ramp up their attempts. 

“Here we are,” Pierce said, stroking the silver sports car lovingly. 

Steve knew enough about cars to know that Pierce’s was sleek, shiny, and probably had horsepower for days. Otherwise known as dollar signs out the ass. But other than that, Steve’s attention was more on the security features, including the odd lock on the door. “Not a normal key system,” Steve noted. 

“No, it has a key system, just in case,” Pierce noted, tapping the keyhole. 

Steve eyed the spot, frowning. There was a blemish. A scratch so small that if one didn’t know the signs to look for, it would have gone unnoticed. But Steve saw it. Almost immediately. “Was it always scratched?” 

Pierce looked down, and as soon as his eyes found the half-inch long scratch in the paint, they widened. “When did that happen? Ugh, one of the best parts of having a mostly keyless system is you don’t have to deal with that.”

Steve, however, looked down at the street surrounding them. He crouched down as Pierce, still grumbling to himself, unlocked the door and opened it. As Steve placed his finger upon a small speck of silver metal on the road, he knew that if it had been an even remotely windy day, he wouldn’t have seen it. As it was, he picked his finger up, and stuck upon it, was the small sliver of shiny silver on his fingertip. “Stop,” Steve ordered, standing up and gripping Pierce’s shoulder to pull him back. 

Pierce rocked back, eyes wide. “What?” 

“Get back in the building,” Pierce ordered, looking at the inside of the car. A cursory glance told him that nothing was out of place or scuffed. Pierce’s car interior was as neat as the man’s desk. It was so clean, in fact, that Steve couldn’t begin to guess at how long Pierce had owned the vehicle. The leather interior was free of scuffs or stains, the cup holder was free of dust and debris, and the carpets looked as though they were regularly vacuumed. That was, save for a few tiny black pebbles on the gray carpeting of the driver’s side rug. 

Careful not to touch the seat or the steering wheel, Steve leaned his way into the space between the driver’s side and the pedals on the floor. His breath evened out, calm and steady, as he spotted the small box placed on the underside of the seat. Cars might not have been his expertise, but he knew something that looked out of place when he saw it. 

Steve had dealt with enough explosives in his lifetime to recognize them when he saw them, and how they might operate. A chill ran down his spine as he carefully pulled himself out of the car. Glancing toward the building where Pierce was waiting impatiently, Steve held up a hand to the man as he pulled his phone from his pocket. Giving Pierce his best reassuring smile, he dialed the emergency number and motioned for Pierce to stay where he was.

In his calmest, most professional voice, he explained to the dispatcher who he was and what he’d found. Pierce managed to wait a few minutes after Steve was off the phone before approaching him again. 

“What is it?” 

Steve cleared his throat, looking back at the car. “You might need to put off your next appointment. It looks like there’s a bomb under the driver’s seat.” 

Pierce’s eyes widened, mouth dropping open. “A...bomb?” Pierce echoed in disbelief. And one that wasn’t just shoddily taped together wires and chemicals either. They would have to wait until the police had examined it after the bomb squad safely removed it, but the device looked fairly sophisticated to him. “Don’t they know I don’t have the time for this?” 

Steve didn’t bother stressing Pierce’s misplaced concern. He had a strong hunch it would fall upon deaf ears. 

Another thought occurred to him, and he waved Pierce back toward the safety of the building. Once he was sure the man was safe, Steve carefully hunkered down in front of the seat once more, this time with his phone in hand. Making sure to jostle nothing, he took as many photos of the device under the seat as he could. When he was done, he carefully extracted himself from the interior and looked over the pictures. It was certainly a strange place to put the bomb. There were other places to put an explosive if you wanted to kill a person. With a few taps, he sent the pictures on to one of his old squad members. Dernier had been their munitions and explosives expert, and Steve knew he’d get a quicker response from him than he would the police. 

When the police arrived, he backed away to allow the men to do their work. A pair of police officers drew him away from the car eventually and into the building to join Pierce. Steve watched as the bomb squad arrived, suited up, and armed themselves with their kit while the police officers questioned Pierce. 

“And you, sir?” the taller of the two officers asked. Steve looked them both over for a moment. They were younger than him, probably in their mid to late twenties. Steve answered their questions but he was more struck by the awkwardness between the two men as they interviewed him. They tended to interrupt the beginning of another’s question, or rephrase a question the other had asked before. Steve wanted to say they must have been newly placed as partners, but it seemed odd that even remotely experienced officers would be less clumsy and fumbling in their first few cases together.

Afterwards, with a quick promise of being in touch if they discover anything, the officers walked off back to the scene. 

“You think they might actually take that death threat seriously now?” Pierce asked once they were out of earshot. 

“Depends on who’s pulling the strings,” Steve admitted, knowing that politics and wheel greasing existed in every organization. He tapped his hip, where he would have normally kept his gun. Despite taking protection seriously, he didn’t like to carry the thing with him on a job unless he felt it was necessary. Looked like he was going to have to pull the locked chest out from under his bed and holster up in the future. “You’ll need to speak with Rumlow and the security team. The security around here can’t continue like this. And we need to find you better secured parking. I would make those calls to the security companies, and I think it’s best if we have someone watching your house. If you can’t provide people fast enough, I can make some calls,” Steve told him. 

“You think they’d come to my house?” Pierce asked him in a tone that was finally serious, as if now the situation was dawning on him. 

Steve nodded. “That bomb was carefully placed, and if my hunch is right, it wouldn’t have done more than blow you up and maybe injure someone else in the car.” 

“That’s...not very comforting,” Pierce sighed. 

“It wasn’t meant to be. Whoever wants you dead has escalated to more than just some thug they shoved money at. The person who put that bomb in your car knew what they were doing, and if I wasn’t a paranoid person on the job, I wouldn’t have thought twice about that scratch on your car. Whoever tried to kill you this time wanted you and you alone dead, and they were meticulous about it. We’re going to have to be careful from here on out.” 

“I’ll...make the calls,” Pierce said, looking ill as he walked back toward his office. 

Steve watched the police for a moment, curious about what they would discover upon inspecting the explosive. The attempted murderer had specifically set the bomb to blow in the car, with just enough explosive to take out Pierce. It meant they didn’t want collateral damage, but it also meant that they were so much more skilled and patient than some gang enforcer. All in all, not that great a comfort.


	3. Chapter 3

Bucky

* * *

Standing with the crowd in the cordoned off area, Bucky watched as the police worked. 

The distance the civilians were being kept at wasn’t necessary since the bomb wasn’t big enough to do any damage to anyone but the person sitting right on top of it. He wasn’t going to correct them, though, and he watched them work thoughtfully. 

Bucky had stayed nearby until Alexander Pierce had emerged from the building. He kept to shops with a view of the front of the building, and finally settled in a cafe with what Bucky had to admit was bomb ass tea. It should have been as simple as Pierce sitting on his driver’s seat. The pressure would have activated the timer, only a few seconds, just long enough for Pierce to close the car door before trying to turn the car on. The bomb would have gone off, with only Pierce killed in the process, and Bucky would have taken his prize and moved on.  _ But...  _ there was a new wrinkle he hadn’t been expecting. 

Seeing Steve again had been a surprise, and Bucky had frozen as he watched the well-dressed, serious-looking man lead Pierce out of the building. As he’d watched them, he couldn’t help but think again how strange the universe was. How strange, and yet somehow fitting, that the handsome man who had tried to lift Bucky’s mood, was also the man who was in charge of keeping Bucky’s target alive. If he was a humorous guy, he would have doubled over laughing his fucking brains off because what were the odds? 

Despite his shock, he’d watched with fascination as Steve had gone from calm to alert, his entire body stiff, like a snake ready to strike. Bucky had no idea what Steve could have spotted, but it had certainly got his attention. Even more interesting was witnessing Steve sending Pierce away, only to discover Bucky’s little surprise under the front seat. So, rather than a sense of accomplishment at finishing the contract quickly, Bucky instead watched his work carefully pulled from the car after being disarmed. 

It struck him as odd that Pierce would all of a sudden have found himself some personal protection. As far as he knew, the man’s charity face was that of a friendly, jovial man who feared nothing and suspected no one. After a bit of researching and talking to people, it was all too easy to find out the man customarily drove himself everywhere. He didn’t have much more than a token security team in the building, and while there was a security system, it wasn’t exactly high end either. It was his home that Bucky suspected was better protected, but he hadn’t looked into that considering he’d already figured out what he was going to do. What exactly had driven the man to change his habits? 

Two of the cops were approaching one of the nearby cop cars, drawing Bucky’s attention. He took in their contrasting appearances, their names, and the way they both maintained a stiff silence with one another. Turning on his heel, Bucky shoved his hands into his jacket, rolled his eyes in annoyance, and made his way back to where he came from. 

***

After a brief search on the internet and a change into a suit, Bucky made his way to the nearby police precinct. He wasn’t surprised to find that it wasn’t particularly busy, with the lobby bare of anyone save the man behind the desk. The officer glanced up from his book as Bucky approached. 

Bucky smiled once he reached the desk. “Hi.” 

“Can I help you?” the man asked. 

Bucky held up a bag of takeout. “Yeah, sorry to bother you, Officer, but I’m here to drop off lunch for Officer Thompson, is he in?” It was a hell of a risk, considering he didn’t even know the officer’s first name. Thankfully, the man behind the desk gave a derisive snort as he set his book down. 

“Christ, how many brothers and sisters does Thompson have anyway? I swear to God, you can’t throw a stone in this city without running into one of you guys. Did your parents even know what condoms or birth control were?” the officer asked. 

Bucky shrugged, shooting the man a cringe. “Well, that’s something you’ll have to take up with them. I never wanted to ask, not something any kid wants to ask their parents.” 

“True, but still. Your brother’s in the back office. Don’t be surprised if he’s not in a good mood, though. Him and Osborn haven’t exactly been getting along, don’t know what the Chief was thinking,” the officer muttered as he picked up his book. 

Bucky beamed at him. “Thanks.” With the first obstacle out the way, he followed the man’s directions and walked out of the lobby and into the next room. From the looks of it, most of the force used the collection of cubicles laden with computer supplies. Little knick-knacks were strewn about decorating each officer’s workspace, and along the walls were the portraits of the officers. He spotted the two officers from the scene there amongst the other framed photos, before he glanced into one of the rooms just large enough for two desks. Bucky wasn’t exactly sure what that particular setup was for, but the offices would give him greater privacy if someone came wandering out. 

As it was, the few officers there barely paid him any attention. They would look up as he passed, look over his suit and the bag in his hand, and go back to their work. The entire point was for them to assume he was either a detective or someone with a purpose and a reason for walking through the workspace. Bucky had learned a long time ago that so long as you didn’t stand out, and you acted like you belonged somewhere, people would generally leave you alone. The goal was to always blend in rather than stand out. 

As he reached the back, the two officers he’d seen earlier came out of their office. The shorter of the two men looked positively furious, and Bucky could understand what the man working at the desk meant. “I don’t give a shit Thompson. That’s not the fucking point,” the officer Bucky knew to be Osborn hissed as he stomped out. 

The taller, more bulkier man, looking no less disgruntled, followed him. “It is the point. You just don’t want it to be the point.” 

“Oh, don’t give me that shit,” Osborn shot back, heading for a nearby hallway. 

“What, the truth? Well, that’s what it is,” Thompson said. 

Bucky stayed out of their warpath as the two men continued down the hallway, arguing the whole time. He hadn’t honestly intended to use their office, just wanting one at the back, but he wasn’t one to pass up an opportunity either. As he slipped into their office, he could hear their voices down the hallway, still arguing. 

Even better, one of them hadn’t logged out of their computer either. Bucky sat in the chair and immediately typed in Pierce’s name. It took only a moment before it finally drummed up the information. He bit at his lips as he looked over the screen. The files Widow had sent hadn’t included the two police reports from recent weeks. It seemed somebody had already tried to kill Alexander Pierce and in broad daylight no less. 

Bucky skimmed the report, finding himself amused as he read about the failed attempt. A failed gun of all things saved the man’s life, and that was precisely why Bucky purchased only the best and kept his guns well maintained. The addition of a threatening letter was equally amusing to him. If you were going to try to kill someone, you didn’t give them warning beforehand, and you certainly didn’t purchase some drug addict off the street with a shit gun to do it either. It did explain why Pierce had suddenly decided that extra protection was necessary, though. Someone had already made a threat, and an attempt, and Bucky knew the man had to make a show of protecting himself while he was vulnerable. 

With his research on Pierce done, he popped a drive into the computer and took the files for himself. Closing down the browser and checking to make sure the search didn’t show the history, he finally pushed away from the desk. A glance into the main room told him he was safe to leave. He dropped the bag of takeout onto a random desk as he passed, waved to the man at the front desk, and walked out onto the street. 

Next came a little extra research, since he was dealing with even more complications than he’d originally planned for. But, the multi-million dollar price tag over Pierce’s head was certainly accommodating now more than ever. 

Once he returned to his room, he searched for protection services in the area. It didn’t take long until he found the one headed by Steve. Scanning over the clean and well-organized site, he hopped over to a records site instead. Using the money on one of his dozens of prepaid cards, he paid to get the information available to the public from the site. “You didn’t do yourself credit on your website, Stevie,” Bucky said as he looked it over. 

Everything about Steve’s childhood checked out all the way up until he turned eighteen. Finally of age, Steve had enlisted in the Army and quickly selected for the Special Forces not long after. The information given about that time was spotty at best, which didn’t surprise him. If Bucky wanted to find out more about Steve’s time in the service, he would have to use additional information resources that Widow could connect him to. The problem was, while Bucky would have liked to know what he was dealing with, he didn’t want to alert the Red Room that he’d run into trouble. Well, and he was begrudging about accepting help from anyone, especially the people who essentially held his leash. No, he could handle this on his own. 

One exceptionally skilled bodyguard wasn’t going to be enough to put him off. He would have to wait a little while until he tried to strike again, however. Steve was already aware that someone was trying to get to Pierce, and Bucky’s first attempt had been a bit of a hand shower. If Bucky had known someone like Steve was involved, he would have been more careful. Now Steve knew someone skilled was on the field, which meant Bucky would have to think and plan a little more carefully. But  _ how  _ to do it? 

Bombs were usually too messy, though Bucky had his ways around that. Since that was out, his mind drifted to poison, but he pushed it aside. Unless he could be absolutely sure that it would reach the target, he never used poison. It was all too easy for a cook to taste the meal to make sure the seasoning was right, the meal could be given to the wrong person, or someone greedy could sneak a bite. Forced accidents were just as messy, and anything could go wrong. Better to kill the person face to face and stage it as an accident rather than set one up. 

He could easily pull out his sniper. The thing was his baby but in this city, finding a spot to access the target would be frustrating. That, and unless it was pitch darkness, weapons were too obvious anyway. He scraped that idea quickly.

Bucky pulled the computer toward him once again and typed. Pierce’s house came up on the screen, and he looked it over. No doubt, after the bomb, Pierce’s security around the house would be amped up. But if he took the time, learned the patterns and the habits of everyone, he could find a way inside. Nighttime would be his friend, as it always was, and he could be in and out before anyone would even know Pierce was dead. It seemed he would have to, once again, go with the direct route.

* * *

Steve

* * *

The week had been a tense one for both Steve and Pierce. Despite putting on a strong face for everyone around him, Pierce was clearly more tired and jumpy than when Steve had first met him. Then again, Steve couldn’t blame him either. The average person wasn’t exactly equipped to deal with a reality where someone was actively trying to kill them. 

From the driver’s seat of his tank of a Hummer, he looked over at Pierce. The philanthropist was gazing out of the passenger’s side window thoughtfully. They’d made it through another day without anything happening, but Pierce still had dark circles under his eyes and the lines on his face seemed more pronounced from the stress. From the few nights he’d spent at Pierce’s place, he knew the man stayed up pretty late, and typically slept restlessly. 

“Doing alright?” Steve asked, already knowing the answer. 

Pierce looked up. “Yes, I suppose I am. Found myself wondering when the police are finally going to catch the person who’s doing all this.” 

“Well, that’s going to depend on what they find out,” Steve said, knowing it was no help. They might have luck trying to catch the person who had initially tried to shoot Pierce in public, but Steve suspected that wasn’t the same person who’d planted the bomb. The police would have to do a lot more than just look for the shooter. They’d have to dig through the underworld of New Haven to try and discover any criminal with both power and a grudge and Steve knew without a doubt that New Haven just wasn’t the place where someone as trained as the culprit would be. No, whoever the hit-man was was someone that was trained beyond normal and brought in from somewhere else to do the job.

Steve wasn’t quite sure how to tell Pierce that he was probably going to have a target on his back for a good long while. 

Pierce smiled wearily. “How do you do it?” 

“Do what?” Steve asked. 

“Deal with the specter of death hanging over your head the whole time? I know you had to have dealt with your fair share of that in the service.” 

Steve nodded solemnly. “This might surprise you, but you get used to it. Humans are...pretty resilient, and we’re pretty flexible too. Given enough time, a person can get used to just about anything that doesn’t kill them right away.” 

“That gets a little ironic when my whole problem is being terrified of what’s trying to kill me.” 

Steve tipped his chin in understanding and turned off the highway. “Yeah, but even that, you get used to.” 

“I’m not sure this is a feeling I want to get used to.” 

Steve didn’t blame him. One of the biggest reasons he’d chosen to go into the protection field was so people like Pierce could feel safe and not have to worry every step of the way. Steve’s training and experience set him up perfectly to deal with life or death situations, and he had wanted to use it in order to make other people’s lives easier somehow. Most of the time, it worked. The woman with an abusive husband had relied steadily on Steve while she’d gone through the process of divorce and then moving where he couldn’t find her anymore. The businessman with prime real estate breathed easier with Steve around to make sure no further ‘accidents’ happened before the police finally caught the culprits. In the few years Steve had been doing his job, he’d helped dozens of people. Sometimes it was directly, other times, it was merely through consulting. He’d faced down thugs, abusive partners, and on one memorable occasion, a man so spaced out on some combination of drugs that he had no use for reality, or pants for that matter. 

Yet Steve had never faced a targeted threat aimed at someone he was protecting, not one where the targeter was probably a high-class professional. 

Pierce looked over at him. “I’m guessing from your silence, you’re not going to try and console me, are you?” 

Steve grimaced. “There’s really nothing I can say that will. And I’m not going to lie.” Just because the rest of the world was happy to lie, manipulate, and trick others to get what they wanted, it didn’t mean he had to do the same. 

He pulled onto the private road that led through the woods in front of Pierce’s house. The road was winding and lined on each side by thick foliage. Steve had tried to convince the man to stay somewhere that was less of a logistical nightmare, but it had been one of the few things Pierce had put his foot down about, citing that he was barely sleeping as it was, sleeping in some strange bed would make it even worse. Steve had given in, but he’d still insisted on a larger security force to watch the house, though. The house itself wasn’t exactly any better in terms of logistics. Pierce had apparently had it designed specifically for him, and built from the ground up. Steve wasn’t an expert in architecture, but he knew enough to think of it as ‘modern.’ Which for Steve, translated to two floors made of plates of glass for walls, a handful of balconies providing access to the house, and minimal exterior lighting to watch the premise. 

Pierce looked down at his phone. “The man in charge of the team tonight said they will be here in half an hour.” 

Steve nodded. “Good, they’re keeping to the schedule then.” 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to tell him you’re going to be in the house?” Pierce asked. 

Steve shook his head. “No, tonight is supposed to be his night, let him continue to think that.” They had been maintaining the same schedule for the past week. For every two nights that Steve stayed in the house, he would spend another one at home, leaving Pierce’s protection to the men watching his house. Despite having already stayed twice in a row, Steve was quietly choosing to stay in the house once more. 

He slid his vehicle into the attached garage after opening it and made sure to close the garage door behind him. The men would come into the house at frequent intervals on a set path that Pierce had agreed. Unless someone was watching the house all day, they would have no idea that Steve was there. The men stationed outside would stick to their paths, checking the areas lit by the lights Steve had insisted be installed outside the house. 

“Ah, home sweet home,” Pierce said as he opened the door leading into the house. Steve wasn’t so sure about it being sweet, considering even with the added manpower, the house was still a pain to secure. One good thing in its favor, however, was that except for the bedrooms and office, it was an open floor plan. The rooms led into one another seamlessly, offering very little in the way of hiding places for someone who might be in the house. 

“Stay here,” Steve said as he walked past the man. 

Knowing the drill by now, Pierce nodded quietly, waving him off. 

Steve walked further into the house, carefully combing each of the rooms as he went. Checking around the leather furniture and the small displays of sculptures, he moved into the bedrooms. They were just as well-decorated as the rest of the house, though considerably less flashy. Beds and closets were checked, and then he moved into the office. It was by far the most used room in the house from what Steve could tell, and other than the closet turned storage place, there was nowhere for someone to conceal themselves. 

After giving Pierce the all clear, the man strolled into his kitchen and poured himself a glass of whiskey. He lifted up a second glass, motioning toward Steve, but Steve shook his head. 

Pierce chuckled, closing the bottle and putting it back on the rack along with the other bottles. “You honestly don’t know what you’re missing.” Instead of turning in for the night, Pierce went upstairs to his office to work on plans for an upcoming charity gala, leaving Steve alone and free to do as he pleased. In the distance, Steve could hear the arrival of the team he’d advised to bring in to watch over the house. 

Taking that as his cue, he made his way to one of the back bedrooms to wait out the night.

***

Steve woke in an instant, knowing he’d been asleep for only about an hour. 

When he stayed over, he allowed himself to sleep for a couple of hours when security was at its highest. He’d never woken so suddenly before, not while he was snoozing in Pierce’s hours and immediately he knew something was wrong. 

Something had woke him up. 

He wasn’t alone. 

Steve kept his body still and relaxed, and his breathing even and deep, listening to the room. The spacious master bedroom tended to carry sounds easily, bouncing off all the walls and hard surfaces. The only thing to muffle sound was the four-poster bed Pierce customarily used as his own. That was until Steve had taken over the man’s safety and had insisted the man sleep somewhere else. 

Just as Steve was about to brush off the incident, he heard the softest sound of something brushing against the floor, close to the foot of the bed. Steve cracked his eyes open the slightest bit as he strained his ears for any more sounds. The curtains around the bed made it nearly impossible to see through the darkness of the room, but Steve would swear he could see something moving on the other side. Whoever it was, they were moving carefully and slowly. 

Steve quickly assessed how long it would take before they reached the side of the bed he was lying on. Counting in his head, he was glad he’d fallen asleep on his side, his arm curled under him. Steve waited until the shadow moved to the side, then he quickly shoved against the bed, launching himself at the intruder. 

The curtains flew apart, and Steve slammed into the shadow. A surprised gasp was the only noise the body made before he stepped backward, trying to twist away from Steve. Steve had taken the man by surprise though and hit him hard, dragging him to the ground. Whoever it was, wasn’t large at all and certainly wasn’t heavy, and it took no effort as all Steve landed on the stranger, using his greater size and weight to pin him down. 

A clatter came as the object in the man’s hand fell and Steve was quick to kick it across the hardwood floor. “Surprise, asshole,” Steve grunted as he tried to grip their wrists. 

A whir could be heard as the automated system in the room took his words as a sign that it was time to open the motorized curtains on the room’s window wall. Moonlight filtered in slowly as Steve jerked back, pulling his chin back away from the sharp movements of the man beneath him. Pinned or not, the guy was not willing to go down without a fight, and he had yet to say anything. 

There was finally enough light in the room for him to make out the man’s dark long-sleeved shirt, pants, and a hat on his head. But Steve froze when the light caught the man’s features, illuminating them enough. “Oh,” Steve managed. 

Bucky frowned up at him. Realizing he’d been caught, all the fight seemed to leave Bucky’s body, his arms and legs dropping to the floor lifelessly. “You weren’t supposed to be here,” Bucky muttered.

“ _ You _ ?” Steve asked, his shock a growing pool of ice in his gut. 

His pause was all that Bucky needed. Bucky shoved his arm between Steve’s, breaking Steve’s grip on him. Before Steve could recover, Bucky yanked his legs out from beneath him and shoved his feet against Steve’s chest. There wasn’t enough force for Bucky to knock Steve over, but there was more than enough for the man to slide several feet away from him. 

Steve snapped out of his shocked daze as Bucky twisted on the ground, back on his feet in a flash. A knife, the object Bucky must have lost his grip on, laid a couple of feet to the side, out of Bucky’s reach. Hand to hand was something of a skill of Steve’s, though, and with grim determination shoving aside his surprise, he launched himself forward again. 

A grunt of surprise left him as he swung for Bucky only for the man to weave around it with effortless grace. Bucky was just as quick to attack. Pain lanced up Steve’s right side as Bucky’s fist slammed into a tender spot. Shoving the pain aside with barely a thought, Steve twisted, bringing his elbow toward the other man’s face. 

But it was as if every move he made, Bucky knew it in advance. The slim brunet twisted back, and then around, hitting Steve once more but on the left side this time. Pain radiated up his whole back, but Steve barely had time to register either before Bucky’s foot slammed against his knee. 

Knee buckling, Steve kneeled hard on the floor with a thud. The pain was getting harder to stay out of his mind, but with the next blow that Bucky moved to take, Steve managed to wrap his hands around Bucky’s wrist. He felt the blow of an elbow coming down on his shoulder, and it hurt like a bitch but Steve allowed himself to fall backward. Using the momentum of their tumble, he shoved his good leg against Bucky’s waist and hurled the man behind him with all the strength he could muster. 

Bucky went flying through the air. A crash echoed through the wall as Bucky slammed into a table on his back, shattering it with the weight of his body. Steve heard a choked off groan and forced himself to take a deep breath, still trying to ignore the pain now that he wasn’t in immediate danger. He could feel his injuries throbbing, though. 

Rolling onto his stomach, he pushed against the floor and took to his feet. His eyes immediately found the other man as he stood up, watching as Bucky picked up the lost knife from where it had landed. There was no missing the pained grimace that flashed across Bucky’s handsome face as he straightened himself up.

Before Steve could make a plan of action, he heard the clunk of something hit the ground. He looked down in time to watch an object roll toward him. Instinct took over, gripping his senses, and he dove away, toward the end of the bed to take cover. 

Seconds took forever to tick by as he counted them, frowning when he finally hit ten. Carefully, he picked himself up and peered over the bed. Bucky was nowhere to be seen, but Steve’s eyes fell on the object he’d seen roll toward him. “For fuck’s sake,” Steve swore as he took to his feet once again. 

Wincing, he limped over, bent down, and plucked the cologne bottle that had sat on the table Bucky had been thrown into up off the floor. Steve scowled as he turned it over in his palm. His instinctive brain had seen a lethal grenade, but now he found himself wondering how the hell he had mistaken the container for anything but what it was. 

He didn’t need to look around to know Bucky was gone, but he did anyway. There were no windows that could be opened in the bedroom, and the door to the hallway was still closed. Steve’s eyes fell on the adjacent bathroom, door wide open just as he’d left it. Scowling, he made his way there and flipped on the light. Once his eyes adjusted to the glare, his first glance was toward the large window next to the standing shower. It was closed and locked, and no one from the outside would have been able to fiddle with it. His gaze moved upward to the vent in the middle of the room. The grating was in place, but as Steve backed up to see it better, he could see there was about a half-inch gap. 

Steve ran through the house’s layout in his head and realized the ventilation system ran up to the roof. Many of the ducts, while not terribly wide, would have been enough for someone of Bucky’s thin size to wriggle his way through. 

“Steve?” came Pierce’s worried voice from the hallway. 

“I’m fine,” Steve called back as he hurried out of the bathroom. The philanthropist stood in the doorway to the bedroom, peering in from the hall. There was enough light pouring out of the bathroom to illuminate the room, including the broken table. 

Steve quickly joined the man in the hallway and briefly explained what had happened. It didn’t bother him that the attack had come sooner than Steve might have expected. In truth, the fact that Bucky turned out to be either the same person who’d planted the bomb, or was in league with the same people who had, didn’t necessarily bother him either. Sure, it had come as a surprise, but between his work protecting people and the Army, he’d learned not to take too much for granted. 

What bothered him was that he  _ should  _ have been dead. Bucky had been every bit as skilled and informed as Steve had tried to plan for. He still cursed himself for not thinking about the roof access, but the fact that Bucky had chosen it showed just how attentive and meticulous he could be. He’d fallen for the trick Steve had laid out, albeit sooner than predicted, but just as Steve had proven by forgetting the vents, no professional was immune to mistakes. 

Yet, in terms of both the initial ambush and the ensuing fight, Steve should not have come out on top. Bucky could have easily shot Steve, but he’d chosen to use a knife, and even then, hadn’t used it despite how close he’d been to the bed. And Bucky had certainly had a gun. Steve had felt it tucked into his waistband when he had flung Bucky onto that table. It was as though Bucky had wanted to be absolutely sure of the figure behind the bed’s curtains before delivering the blow. Not only that, but he was clearly trained in and capable of dealing with an opponent much larger than him. 

The fight had been quick, clean, and Steve shouldn’t have walked away from it. Even using the cologne bottle showed that Bucky clearly knew how to manipulate a former frontline fighter’s instincts. Every part of the entire interaction that Steve broke down in his mind screamed that Steve should have been dead, or at least bleeding profusely. Instead, Bucky left him with a few bruises and a knee that could be treated with an ice pack and a couple of aspirin. 

What the hell kind of professional assassin avoided killing a clear and obvious threat to their target, especially when their target would have been left defenseless afterward? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, okay... I will not be posting another chapter of this until His Omega Son is updated.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who the heck holds a ZOOM meeting for over two hours?!?!?!? Oh yeah, my professor -_-
> 
> Those that don't follow me on Tumblr, I wasn't supposed to update this until I posted the next chapter for HOS but something awesome happened this weekend that prevented me from completing the next update so I just went ahead and posted this since it was already done and ready to go.

Bucky

* * *

In full view of the hotel room’s mirror, Bucky’s back was a collage of black and blue and purple that tainted his pale skin. 

The previous night had been filled with surprises, to say the least, and that included being thrown into a damned table-- a very solid,  _ hard  _ table at that. “Only the best for the rich and corrupt,” Bucky muttered as he looked over his bruises. 

People were at their most predictable if you caught them before they realized they were establishing a pattern. Bucky had watched Pierce's house for a week, evaluating every choice that was made for his target’s protection. Bucky had figured Steve was a capable man, but equally predictable. So Bucky had watched the pattern of days of direct protection followed by lesser guardianship and chose to make his attempt before the habit was established. Get in early, and no one, not even Steve, would attempt to cover up the holes in the plan. 

But Steve  _ had  _ been there. Not only that, but he’d been in the very same room, and bed Pierce should have been in. Bucky thought he had his target right where he wanted him as he entered the room and began to stalk closer. The bulk had been too large. It was only as he’d approached the bed that he had felt doubt, unsure if the figure he was seeing was the right one. 

“Clever man,” Bucky muttered sourly, finally walking away from the mirror. But before he could get too far, his phone rang, stopping him as he passed the bed. Sighing heavily, he grabbed the device from the blanket. 

One look at the caller ID had him frowning and he quickly swiped to answer, pressing the phone to his ear. “Widow,” he said. 

“James.” 

He frowned. She knew everything about him, probably more than he knew about himself, but she’d never used his name before. She was breaking alot of norms as of late and it only had his suspicions rising. “What can I do for you?” 

“Calling for a status update. Do you have one?” 

_ What the hell? _ Since when did he need to give a status update? His freedom to do what he pleased in the way he wanted to do it was one of the few perks of his job. Was Red Room becoming suspicious of him, or were they simply considering recycling him? He wouldn’t be the first operative the Agency decided to get rid of but he was one of the best and considering the success rate of some of the other operatives, he was a goddamn  _ god  _ amongst them. 

But… in truth, he expected it to happen eventually. It wasn’t like there was a retirement plan and it certainly wasn’t as if he could just stop. 

“Since when do you ask for a status update?” Bucky asked carefully. 

There was a pause before Widow’s clipped tone returned. “For something as simple as bringing down a target who lives a good chunk of his life openly, I had expected you would have finished it by now.” 

“And Red Room is wondering what’s up,” Bucky finished for her. 

“No. That would be me wondering.” 

“Is there a difference?” 

“The difference is in what they do and don’t know.” 

Bucky hesitated. “So, what don’t they know?” 

“Many things. You’re not the only one allowed a great deal of freedom in their work. The Red Room only cares about results, and as little mess as possible. As your handler, I’m to make sure that you’re getting the contracts fitting for your skillset, aiding you should you need it, and reporting the success back to the Red Room. Anything else is...extraneous to them.” 

“Including my...proclivity for certain targets,” Bucky guessed. 

“Correct.” 

Bucky stared at the wall across from him as the silence stretched between them. For years, he had always taken it for granted that Widow reported every little thing to the Agency. There was, of course, always the possibility that she was lying to him. He had lived for far too long in a world made up of lies, manipulation, and subtlety to take what she said at face value. “Interesting,” he finally said. 

“And that includes having noticed...signs,” Widow replied. 

Bucky raised a brow. “Signs?” 

Widow gave a soft scoff. “Yes, signs. Every operative, both field and handler, find themselves getting to a point where they have either outlived their usefulness or have… mentally reached the point where they can no longer fulfill their function.” Either the woman was a mind reader, or he wasn’t being as subtle as he thought.

Bucky laughed dryly. “I’m not considering retirement. A bit early for me to take a bullet to the brain anyway.” 

“There are...other ways,” Widow told him quietly.

Bucky’s heart picked up its pace at those words. The idea of getting out of the life had always teased the back of his mind when he allowed it. It wasn’t as if he needed the money, what he had saved in various accounts across the world could sustain him for a few lifetimes, probably even more than that. 

Truth be told, sometimes the idea of spending the next two decades killing people for money, constantly living on the edge of humanity, was not the most appealing. Unlike some of his peers, he took no pleasure in what he did. There was no thrill in the chase, only the occasional sense of accomplishment when he managed to bring down a tough target. 

“Didn’t you call for a status update?” Bucky asked her calmly. 

“I am admittedly curious why the man isn’t dead yet, yes,” she said, her brisk tone returning. 

“There was an unforeseen factor that came into play. They’ve complicated matters considerably, and I need to reevaluate my method of approach,” he told her. 

“Complications? Unusual for you.” 

“Not really,” he quipped back. “But this is the first time I’ve had to talk to you about them. Much as it’s the first time you’ve ever asked.” 

_ Steve  _ was the problem. Without him around, Bucky’s target would have been left wide open. It would have taken him less than a day, less than an hour even. But that’s not how fate would have it. All it took was one clumsy attempt on the man’s life and then Steve was brought in just as Bucky had been assigned to Pierce. The man was too smart for his own good. In this world, that only got people killed that much faster. 

There’s no doubt in Bucky’s mind that Steve would have been dead if he’d put himself in the path of any other operative under the Red Room’s employment. Problem was, it was too messy for Bucky’s taste  _ and  _ he preferred a kill to be as clean as humanly possible.

Besides, it wasn’t like Steve had done anything wrong. The man was just doing his job and just happened to be doing it so well that it was complicating Bucky’s job. 

“And I don’t think I should have to remind you that I asked for a time limit, and you stated there was none,” Bucky reminded her. 

“And so I did. Will you require any assistance in getting over these new...factors?” 

“No, I can handle them just fine.” 

His aversion to killing Steve didn’t change the fact that the man had to be removed from the equation. Steve was too capable, too good at what he did to be allowed to remain in play. Bucky had developed several methods for removing problems, and all of them were bloodless. If he involved the Red Room, even the slightest, he would risk more blood being shed than was necessary. 

“Very well. Then we will speak again when you have completed the contract,” Widow said before ending the call. 

Bucky set the phone down on the bed once again, staring at it. Even if the Widow’s call to him hadn’t been Red Room prompted, it was strange she would contact him at all. The talk about retiring or getting out of the game was even stranger, and it gnawed at the back of his mind. Was she trying to help him or trick him? 

Closing his eyes, he pushed the thought away, storing it in the back of his mind to deal with later. He still had a contract to finish, and he couldn’t allow himself to get distracted by outside thoughts while he was working. 

Instead, he reached under the bed and dragged his bag out, opened it, and began digging through. From its depths, he drew out the small, latched box. Opening it, the varied contents of a few silver rings, one with a small ruby at its center, another lined with tiny diamonds, shifted around as he set the box down. The chain of silver he pushed to the side, along with the thin necklaces adorned with pendants. Pressing down on precisely the right spot, the felt bottom of the small box popped up, allowing him to slip a nail under its edge and lift it up. 

Three small vials and a plastic cylinder sat in the bottom. Extracting them, he took the cylinder apart carefully, revealing the plastic components and long spring the autoinjector needed to function. The vials were filled with various levels of sedative fluid, which he considered as he mentally calculated Steve’s size. 

A small smirk curled at the corner of his mouth as he flashed back to Steve’s bulk in the light of the setting sun as they’d sat at the bar. His mind played over the brief scuffle in what should have been Pierce’s bedroom. Steve had been every bit as big and solid as he’d looked, and in other circumstances, Bucky would have enjoyed the memory of it pressing down on him. Then again, he could enjoy the memory anyway. 

Dismissing the trailing thought, he chose the vial with the most in it. Steve was built like a fucking human tank, and Bucky would need the strongest dose he had to make sure it stuck. With practiced, and precise movements, he slipped the vial into place and began rebuilding the injector. 

Once done, he held it up, ignoring the twinge in his back as he made sure it was rebuilt perfectly. All that was left was to find Steve when he was alone, which was admittedly the easy part. He knew where the man lived, and he knew that he lived alone. The tricky part would be striking at the right time.

***

It took another two days of surveillance before Bucky was absolutely sure Steve was in his apartment. It meant Pierce was left without his best option of survival, although Bucky had no doubts Steve had taken extra precautions after Bucky’s last attempt. Things would be much easier on Bucky if he could open up a twenty-four hour period for him to strike. 

The real problem was making sure Steve was well and truly asleep before Bucky slipped into his apartment. Bucky had spent the two entire goddamn days watching and checking over Steve’s place and its entry points. The simplest would have been from the balcony that hung out from the living room. He also knew there was a top of the line security system, but considering the toys Bucky kept on hand, he didn’t think that would be a problem. 

Once he was as sure as he was going to get that Steve was asleep, Bucky made his move. Getting into the neighbor’s apartment was as easy as he’d expected. Apparently, Steve’s neighbors didn’t believe in security, they hadn’t even bothered engaging the door bolt, only the knob lock. There was no security system either, and without a dog to at least alert the owners, it was a miracle the people hadn’t dealt with a break-in yet. 

Making his way through the dark hallway and into the living room, he stopped to listen carefully. Light snoring could be heard from the bedroom behind him, and the soft restless movement of someone turning in their sleep. Content that he would be fine, he made his way to the double doors and out onto the stranger’s balcony. 

Closing the door behind him, he looked down at the street below, and then over the edge of the balcony. Sure enough, there was a ledge jutting out from the edge of the building that started at the base of the balcony. It wasn’t a large ledge, only a six-inch lip to shuffle along and keep himself from plummeting the five stories to the concrete and asphalt below, but it was more than enough for him. 

Bucky took a deep, calming breath as he stepped over the edge of the balcony. Testing the ledge, he drew his other leg over and stood with his back against the building. He took his time, but slowly and surely, he scooted across the narrow space, inching closer to Steve’s balcony. It was only about ten feet or so, but his dislike of heights made it seem like it took so much longer. 

He absolutely  _ hated  _ it. But, there were times when he had to suck it up and deal with it because he was a grown up and more importantly, it’s what was needed for the job to get done. He just had to force himself to ignore the very little aspects that  _ didn’t  _ keep him safe.

The irony of being a man who faced bullets and near-death events who could still feel queasy being a few stories up was never lost on him. 

So naturally once he reached Steve’s balcony, he let out a soft, trembling breath of relief. He was careful not to scramble over the wall too quickly and was glad he did when he spotted a few potted plants in the corner where he’d planned to hop down. 

Pushing away from the wall, he landed in front of the plants instead. He peered through the glass doors leading into Steve’s apartment without leaning on them. He wasn’t surprised to see the dim light of a device on the hallway’s wall. From the small bag on his back, Bucky drew out a cellphone, or, more accurately, a modified phone. Bucky wasn’t precisely sure how it worked, but the device was incredibly good at finding and modifying the signals given off by most modern security systems. Thankfully, it didn’t require him to understand, but merely to turn it on, and allow it to do its job. 

Once he had the all-clear from the device, he placed it back into the bag and pulled out his toolset. Picking the right tool, he eased it into the small gap between the doors. A little bit of expert maneuvering later, and the latch slipped up with a soft noise. Testing the handle, he opened one of the doors gently, smiling as it opened smoothly and without the slightest creak. Silently, he tucked everything back away and pulled out the injector. 

Bucky made his way into the living room, closing the balcony door behind him gently. From his prior surveillance, he was familiar with the layout of the room. Even in the dim light, he moved carefully but quickly around the furniture. A cellphone left on charge sat on the table by the hallway door. A small smile flashed across Bucky’s face as he picked it up, sliding the back off it. 

While he didn’t anticipate any further problems from Steve by the time he was done, Bucky wasn’t the type of man to put all his eggs in one basket. From his bag, he drew a small device out and slipped it into an empty space in the phone and replaced the back. This way, he would be able to track Steve’s movements so long as he had the phone on him, just in case. 

Stepping into the hallway, he paced down its dark length to where he knew the bedroom was, smiling when he caught the sight of the door ajar through the light filtering out of the bathroom. Adjusting his grip on the injector, he stepped into the shadowy bedroom. A large bed took a prominent position at the center of the back wall. A large shape was curled beneath the comforter, and as Bucky listened, the sounds of heavy, even breathing could be heard. Quietly taking a deep breath and holding it, he slipped closer to the bed. 

Without the curtains of a four-poster bed in the way, Bucky wondered how he never realized that the shape of Steve’s should have given him away in an instant. Even asleep and unmoving, Steve’s body took up a great deal of space. It was intimidating as  _ hell _ . Bucky only hoped the injection would be quick and unnoticed. Steve had slept lightly at Pierce’s, but Bucky hoped the man was a deeper sleeper at home. 

As he reached the side of the bed, Bucky hesitated. The figure was still unmoving, and his breathing hadn’t altered in the slightest. In fact, there hadn’t been the slightest alteration to Steve’s breath as he slept, or the faintest twitch of his body beneath the sheet. 

“Damn it,” Bucky whispered. “Again?” 

Movement from behind caught his eye, and pain erupted along the right side of his head. He had enough time to curse before he felt himself pitch forward, and darkness took over his vision.

* * *

Steve

* * *

As he stared down at the unmoving, and now tied up body of the would-be assassin, Steve had to resist the urge to give him a swift kick. It had taken a great deal of self-control to keep himself calm as he’d carried Bucky’s unconscious body away from the bed and tied him up. A blow to the right spot on someone’s head was a good way to knock them out quickly, but people didn’t always stay unconscious for long. 

Once that was done, he turned on the bedroom light and knelt beside his bed to pick up the object Bucky had dropped after the blow. Steve held it up to the light, his gut tightening as he turned the tip toward him and saw a small needle through a hole in the end. Whatever liquid was in the object, it was obviously meant for him, and Bucky was going to inject him while he’d been asleep. 

“Jerk,” Steve muttered, dropping it on the bed. Standing up, he bent over and pulled the comforter back. Steve was rather proud of the stack of pillows and blankets. He’d spent a good ten minutes that night, making sure it looked like him asleep in the bed. The small device next to the heap was still playing the looping sounds of him sleeping. He reached out, turning the sound off. 

“Clever,” a voice sounded behind him. 

Steve turned sharply to face the man. Bucky was still against the wall, though sitting up rather than hunched over. The smaller man was unmoving, his arms and hands tied in front and left to rest in his lap. His dark eyes stared up at him with an expression that Steve could see was amusement. 

Bucky shook his head. “Can’t believe I fell for the wrong person in bed trick again. I must be getting sloppier than I realized.” 

“Good thing for me,” Steve growled. 

Bucky winced. “Though less good for this headache of mine. Did you really have to hit me so hard? You could have used half the strength and still got the same result.” 

“Consider it payback,” Steve told him. 

Bucky’s eyes moved down Steve’s body, resting on his legs. “How’s the knee?” 

“Nothing a little ice and aspirin couldn’t fix.” 

“Oh, good. I tried to be gentle about it.” 

Well, that certainly answered one of his suspicions. The blow could have very well shattered Steve’s kneecap, but instead, he’d merely limped for the rest of the day. This situation was growing more and more curious. 

Steve sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m supposed to believe that you, a man who obviously kills people for a living, wanted to be  _ gentle _ ?” 

Bucky snorted softly. “If I wanted your leg in a cast, it would be.” 

“Right, out of the generosity of your mercenary soul. I’m sure you preferred to just inject me with this nasty little concoction,” Steve said, holding up the injector. 

Bucky shrugged. “Well, that would have been unpleasant, but not nearly as long-lasting as being in a cast and having a broken kneecap for weeks.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure death could be pretty damn quick.”

Bucky raised a brow. “Death? There’s no need to be so dramatic. I’m quite confident in the dose, it wouldn’t have killed you.” 

“Uh-huh. So you wouldn’t care if I injected you with it?” Steve asked, holding it out. 

Bucky eyed it, wrinkling his nose. “I’d prefer you didn’t, it would be unpleasant. And considering our size difference, it might have some further nasty side effects that you wouldn’t have endured if I’d successfully injected you.” 

“Right, gonna tell me what’s in it?” Steve asked. 

“I could give you the chemical breakdown, but somehow, I suspect that’s not what you’re asking for,” Bucky supposed. 

Steve frowned. “I’m not an idiot.” 

“No, that much is clear. If anything, the lack of stupidity and incompetence on your part is exactly why I was here in the first place. I just meant that based on what I’ve learned, the chemical compounds of a substance aren’t something you’d recognize.” 

Steve tilted his head to the side just slightly. Was he being complimented by an assassin? 

Bucky cleared his throat. “That being said, it’s a specific poison that works as a strong sedative. It was my hope that you would have been really goddamn sick for up to twenty-four hours. Vomiting, diarrhea, and the associated dizziness and weakness that comes with both. It would have probably required hospitalization, but nothing life-threatening.” 

“So, yes, you were going to poison me.” 

“Not to rain on your limited perspective parade, but a poison that would have made you sick for a little while should be far more preferable to one that would have ended your life.” 

Definitely preferable, but Steve didn’t like the small twinge of relief and gratitude that he felt. He didn’t consider himself so idealistic that he really felt he could condemn Bucky for the attempt. Despite the fact that Bucky was clearly a killer for hire, he apparently wasn’t bloodthirsty. “Sounds a bit like your bomb,” Steve said carefully, watching him. 

Bucky snorted. “That should have been the first sign that I could have been more careful. I suppose I’m a little too used to the common idiots and thugs people like to hire.” 

“That’s the second time you’ve complimented me,” Steve pointed out. 

“And? I don’t have so much pride that I’m unwilling to give credit where it’s due. You’ve made my job considerably more difficult than I thought this one would have any right being.” 

“Your job. You mean the one where you kill people for money.” 

“That would be the one.” 

“Well, at least you’re honest.” 

Bucky looked down at his bindings and smirked. “I was caught trying to inject you with a sleeper poison after you caught me armed in a certain man’s bedroom. I now find myself tied up and at your mercy. Which, in other circumstances, I might find enjoyable, but as it is, I kinda don’t have a reason to lie to you.” 

Steve stared at Bucky, wondering what the hell he was supposed to say next. Bucky’s entire demeanor was utterly calm, and everything he said was dry, tinged with wry humor. As far as Steve could tell, Bucky was being completely honest with him. Which included the comment about enjoying himself. Maybe Steve was the one who got hit on the head because there was no way he was being  _ hit  _ on by the assassin. Steve pushed that bizarre thought aside, clearing his throat. “So what, your plan was to get me out of the way, and go kill Pierce?”

“Once you were incapacitated, the way to him would have been wide open. Don’t get me wrong, the men you have watching over his home are very capable, but your boss doesn’t exactly keep himself locked away. Without your watchful, and perhaps even paranoid eye around him at all times, he would have been considerably more vulnerable. That’s all I need.” 

Steve hated to admit it, but he knew Bucky was right. Apparently, the only mistake Bucky had made was repeatedly not to take Steve quite seriously enough. That, and Steve had first-hand knowledge of just how lax the security around Pierce was. Without Steve around, Pierce would have been as vulnerable as a goddamn child. 

“So, who hired you?” Steve asked. 

“If I could shrug properly right now, I would,” Bucky answered. 

“Which isn’t an answer.” 

“I don’t know who the client is. It’s not my business to know. All I need to know is the target.” 

It was precisely that sort of attitude that Steve had always despised about mercenary groups. Steve had taken lives, both in defense and in the heat of battle, and was no stranger to violence and knew that sometimes collateral damage was going to happen. That didn’t mean he had to dismiss it out of hand or pretend it was something he didn’t care about. Those were lives, maybe not the lives of good people, but they were lives all the same. 

Steve watched Bucky watch his face. The air was tense between them, naturally so, and it didn’t take long until Bucky rolled his eyes. “I can literally feel you thinking,” Bucky huffed. “If you’re summoning up the rage for a nice, righteous rant, save your breath. I do what I do, and you do what you do. Moralize to someone who cares.” 

Steve’s jaw tightened, fingers clenching around the injector held in his hand. His other hand rested on his pocket, where his phone sat. “The bomb would have killed only Pierce,” Steve said. 

Bucky stared back at him as if Steve was an idiot. “Yes.” 

“I could have been sitting in the passenger seat and, at worst, would have had some minor hearing loss and maybe some shrapnel.” 

“It’s good to know that my balance of chemicals was accurate.” 

“You already knew that.” 

“I did.” 

So there it was again. A bomb meant to kill one person. Bucky not striking at Steve in Pierce’s bed until he was close enough to be sure. And now a poison meant to incapacitate rather than kill. Bucky clearly had no qualms about killing people, yet went out of his way, to the point of endangering himself, to ensure no one but his chosen target was killed. Was that professionalism, or something else? And did it  _ really  _ matter? 

“Why do you care?” Bucky asked. There was a different look on his face now, one that was curious but cautious, too. 

“Because I’m trying to figure out how someone could care so much about innocent lives, but still want to kill an innocent man,” Steve admitted. 

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, searching Steve’s face. “Fuck,” he whispered. “Glad my instincts were right.” 

“What?” Steve asked, blinking. 

“You really believe what you just said. I thought you did… but I couldn’t be sure.” 

“I believe what?” 

“That your boss is innocent.” 

“Pierce’s entire livelihood is built around charity and helping other charities. The man does everything in his power to help other people. And why do you keep referring to him by anything but his name when you talk about him?” Steve demanded. 

Bucky leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. “You’re a man with an extensive military career. Not quite sure what you’ve done, but someone with a listed resumé like yours should have a good idea about how ugly the world can be.” 

“Which is why it pisses me off to find people like you willing to piss all over the good parts,” Steve snapped. 

Bucky chuckled. “Don’t be naive. I know you’re not.” 

Steve hesitated. Bucky could be telling the truth but… but he could  _ also  _ be lying. Hired hit-men had to be cunning and sly, and Bucky could easily be all of those hidden beneath that pretty face. If anything, it would make more sense-- a beautiful man but deadly underneath. His eyes narrowed at the smaller man, taking him in. “What don’t I know?” 

Bucky sighed. “He’s got a nice life, doesn’t he?” 

“Pierce?” 

“I mean, that car alone has to be worth your average person’s annual income, hell, double or triple that. And his house?” Bucky whistled. “Well, that baby had to cost a few million. Between that prime spot of real estate, he owns the woods around it by the way, and building it from the ground up? Then there’s all the nice things he fills it with, and how nice his office is.” 

Steve had noticed. “Sure, it’s excessive.” 

“ _ Excessive _ ?” Bucky repeated in disbelief, long and slow. “This is a man who deals with charities, remember? And charities aren’t exactly known for having a lot of money for their employees in their budget. But him? Oh, he’s living like a fucking CEO of a well-known and incredibly profitable business. And that’s not even including all the fine dining, high priced booze, and expensive clothes.” 

“I assume you have a point,” Steve said, unease pooling in his gut. 

Bucky’s eyes flashed open. “Oh, come on. You’re an intelligent man and an incredibly clever one. You had to wonder where it all came from, didn’t you? Or have you been so busy trying to keep him alive that your attention to detail skated right over your boss living like a king?” Steve had noticed, thought about it, but had better things to do than worry about Pierce’s budget. For all he knew, there was money from an inheritance involved, or perhaps when you juggled several charities at once, money slipped into the personal funds more easily. Then again, hadn’t he overheard Pierce talking to his partner, saying they didn’t have the money to spare for some group? If Pierce’s business was doing so well, why wouldn’t there be money to spare? 

Steve cleared his throat uncomfortably. “So, what? Money laundering? Skimming off the top?” 

Bucky smiled but it wasn’t the kind of one that Bucky gave him at the bar. No, this one was cruel and sharp. “Let me put it to you this way, in the past two years, I’ve killed more than two dozen people. More importantly, I chose those specific targets.” 

Steve scowled. “So?” 

“One was a drug kingpin working in his ruthlessly carved territory in Hell’s Kitchen. Another was an international trader, though he was trading children more than he was trading stocks and funds. A third was an up and coming brutal tyrant, he was fond of putting people who crossed him on spikes. Caught him in the Sahara. He even begged for his life, like the dozens of his victims before, right before I put a bullet in his head.” 

“What’s your point, Bucky? If that’s even your name.” 

“It’s the name that works, might as well be my name. You want to know the last one I went after?” Bucky didn’t wait for a response. “Traveling salesman, but he was really fond of picking up hookers and killing them after he raped them repeatedly. Sensing a theme?” 

Steve tightened his jaw. “Hard not to.” 

“Then I’ll put it bluntly. They were monsters, every single one of them. Beasts and predators of their own kind, who got off on the money, power, or simple savage joy of sadism. I might be nothing more than a killer to you, but there’s not one man or woman I’ve ended that didn’t deserve far worse than the quick death I gave them.” 

“So, what? You’re just this noble, murdering Robin Hood? Killing the rich to save the poor?” Steve asked, unable to help his sneer. 

Bucky gave him a flat, unamused look. “As if. I never said I wasn’t a killer. After years of this, I’ve racked up quite the body count. I kill people, and I get paid for it. There’s nothing noble about me. I murder people in cold blood and don’t lose a wink of sleep over it.” 

Steve stood up, towering over Bucky. “And I’m just supposed to believe you? You think you can just spin a story to me, and I’ll let you go?” 

“Honestly, I’ve been wondering why we’ve been able to talk so long. I’d assumed that you’d called the police and were simply waiting for them to show up as you kept me occupied.” 

“Would that really have made a difference?” 

Bucky pulled a face but there wasn’t anything unsure on his face. “Well, it would have cost me quite the setback, and I’d probably find myself in a great deal of trouble. But would I end up in prison? No.” There was a pause as Bucky peered up at him. “Y’know… you managed to outsmart me three times now, and even deduced that the police would not hold me. Yet, you refuse to see the truth.” 

“All you’ve told me is that you murdered a few assholes.” 

“I told you that I specifically target certain types of people. The information I receive about targets is enough for me to make quite the informed decision.” 

Steve took a deep breath. “And you’re saying that Pierce is one of those people.” 

“I’m saying the oh-so-adored and compassionate man of charity is nothing more than a facade to cover up the monstrous things he does behind closed doors.” 

Steve continued to stare down at Bucky, the brunet’s words echoing around his mind. Only moments before, he had been considering the possibility that everything Bucky had said while he was tied up on Steve’s floor was true. Yet if he continued with that trend, it meant he had to give weight to Bucky’s accusations. And if he  _ was  _ right, what kind of person was Steve protecting? 

Steve’s lip curled, and he stepped away into the bathroom. He kicked aside the blanket and pillow he’d thrown on the floor where he waited to see if Bucky would come for him. Opening the medicine cabinet, he drew out the small glass bottle and a sealed syringe. The bottle wasn’t exactly something he should have, but Steve wasn’t too fussed about holding onto it just in case. Remembering the dose recommendations, he stuck the needle into the thin cover over the top of the bottle and drew the plunger back. Steve still wasn’t sure what he was going to do with Bucky, but he wasn’t going to leave the man to his own devices. Most likely, the cops wouldn’t be able to hold him, and being allowed to run around again would just put Pierce back in danger. And most importantly, Steve needed time to think. 

When he returned, he found Bucky sitting up straight, watching his every movement. Bucky’s eyes narrowed as they spied the needle in Steve’s hand. “Oh, and what surprise do you have for me?” Bucky asked, sounding more curious rather than worried. 

“You seem confident you won’t stay locked up, and I can’t leave you just tied up. You’ll find a way to free yourself if you’re conscious,” Steve told him. 

Bucky chuckled. His lips curled up prettily to the side. “I see, sleep time for me then.” 

“Long enough for me to do my job today.” And do some hard thinking, too. 

Bucky sighed. “Not that I have much of a choice. Do me a favor, if you would.” 

Steve frowned. “I don’t really think you’re in a position to ask for favors.” 

“True, and I’m not expecting you to either, doesn’t hurt to ask.” 

“Fine, then ask.” 

“I’m wearing dailies. And you’re not supposed to sleep with regular use contacts as it is so I can’t imagine what being knocked out with dailies in would do to my eyes. Whatever you might think of me, I’d rather not have my eyesight ruined.” 

Steve blinked. “You’re wearing contacts?” 

“What, you think I walk around not trying to hide a bit of myself? I need to blend  _ in _ , Steve-O, not stick  _ out  _ like some people,” Bucky said pointedly as he let his gaze do an obvious sweep of Steve from head to toe. 

Steve took stock of the man tied up before him. Bucky was… well, truthfully, at a quick glance Bucky could be considered average, if Steve wasn’t too invested in the sharp angles of his face and how the longer he looked, the more clear it was that Bucky was so not average. But with a fast look, less than a few seconds, Bucky could easily blend in to any stranger on the streets. 

A stranger than wasn’t some stone-cold assassin. Or, correction, an assassin with a bleeding heart for cleaning up the world one bad guy at a time. 

Eventually, Steve’s conscience took over. He took a deep breath, readying himself. “Fine, hold still. Try anything, and you’re getting your ass beat and then injected,” Steve warned. 

Bucky smiled. “I’ll behave. Truth be told, Steve, I think I like you better now that we know one another for what we are.” 

“Not sure how I feel about that,” Steve muttered as he crouched. 

“I don’t expect you to feel anything about it.” 

Steve huffed, waiting until Bucky tilted his head back and held himself still. Taking another deep breath, Steve gently reached out, carefully pinching the thin contact and pulling it free. Bucky closed his eye immediately after, blinking rapidly as Steve made quick work of the second one. Seeing as they were apparently disposable, Steve cupped them in his hand then tossed them into the wastebasket beside his bed. 

“Very deft touch for a man with such big hands. I can’t say I’m surprised,” Bucky said with a soft laugh. 

Steve turned and stopped in his tracks as Bucky turned his cleared vision up toward him. Immediately he understood what Bucky meant about keeping attention off of himself. If his initial draw to Bucky in the bar had been something just shy of subtle curiosity, the attention Bucky’s eyes would have drawn was sheer, overpowering want. They were a pair of the most striking, icy grey eyes he had ever seen in his life, borderlining right along being ethereal. They were as unusually bright as they were beautiful, and they gazed up at Steve with sad amusement. 

“They’d stand out in a crowd, wouldn’t they?” Bucky’s voice was low, just above a whisper. 

Steve nodded. “Yeah, they would.” 

“And would definitely make me very identifiable if everyone saw them.” 

J ust how often did Bucky hide his eye color from other people? For that matter, just how much of  _ himself  _ did Bucky hide from the world? Was there really anything about Bucky that anyone really knew? They weren’t really the thoughts he should have been having for someone he needed to consider his enemy. Still, Steve couldn’t help the small twinge of pity for a man whose life was probably lonely and maybe even empty. 

The faint amusement in Bucky’s eyes disappeared completely only to be replaced with a cold hardness. “Not sure what that look means, but I smell pity. And believe me, I don’t want your fucking pity. Just inject me, and you can decide what you're going to do with me while I’m out cold.” 

Doing as he was told, Steve bent down and carefully stuck the needle into Bucky’s offered neck. The skin there was creamy and soft-looking, and had this been any other moment, or any other person, he’d have followed through with the temptation to get a taste just for himself. But now was definitely not the time or place. 

Steve licked at his lips as he pulled the needle back out and disposed of it to the side. “You seem awfully calm about being left vulnerable.” 

Bucky chuckled. “You’re one of those good-guy types.” 

“I guess compared to you, I am,” Steve said, but for some reason his voice lacked the conviction. 

Bucky shook his head and Steve noticed how the man’s eyelids began fluttering. “No, I mean...you’ve got morals you cling to with every...inch of your being.” 

“Doesn’t everyone?” 

“N-No,” Bucky answered, voice slurring at the edges. “Some people use religion...or money...power...and some people, like you...use some, strict code to get through life. People need that...to get through the chaos of life. Otherwise, they go nuts.” 

Steve watched Bucky’s head droop forward and couldn’t help but ask, “And what do you have?” 

“Me?” Bucky asked. His voice was thick and weak, and Steve knew he would only be awake for a few more seconds now. “I got… nothing.” 

And with that, Bucky’s chin hit his chest. Steve didn’t need to prod the man to know that the drug had taken effect. Bucky would be out cold for several hours, and even when he came to, he’d be groggy. That didn’t mean Steve was underestimating the man either. Groggy and dazed, Bucky could still be dangerous and probably more than capable of getting himself free if it came to it. Still, Steve had the greatest danger to Pierce tied up and drugged in his apartment. Steve could afford to take half a day, long enough to check on Pierce and make sure everything was going smoothly. The older man had a relatively calm day and would be spending it in the office, so Steve wouldn’t have to fret too much over his safety. 

He stood up, ready to prepare himself for the rest of his day. As he left to go take a shower, he stopped at the doorway and stared at Bucky. The man was sleeping heavily, and it was only looking at him then that Steve realized Bucky was younger than he’d first thought. It wasn’t as though there were any lines or tight spots on Bucky’s features when he was awake, but while asleep, Bucky managed to shed five, maybe ten years from his face. It only made Steve wonder what horrors this beautiful man had done.

Or, perhaps more importantly, what horrors had been done to Bucky that made him turn into a cold-blooded killer. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am praying and hoping that the next update for HOS will be up soon. I'm seriously struggling so please, please, please bare with me.

Bucky

* * *

Coming to consciousness felt like trying to swim through mud as Bucky felt his senses returning. 

His hearing came back first, the distant sounds of the cars on the street below, followed by the click and hum of the kitchen fridge somewhere in the apartment. Next came his sense of taste, something bitter and thick on his tongue, and a foggy thought reminded him that it was the drugs. Right, he’d let himself be drugged. 

Cracking open his eyes, he gazed around where he was laid down. The last thing he remembered was sitting up against the wall. What he was on was stiff, but not floor and wall stiff. It took a moment for his sluggish brain to process the fact that he was now on his back, and on the bed. 

“Huh,” was all he could manage. He was still tied up, though, but he’d been expecting that. 

Bucky’s mind was beginning to shake off the haze of the drugs, his thoughts growing clearer and more concise. The light filtering through the windows was warm and growing thin. He knew full well that the dose wouldn’t have been weak enough to knock him out till dawn, so the only reasonable assumption was that it was sundown. 

“Hmm, no headache,” he murmured, running his tongue over his teeth. There were a few things that could knock him out so soundly with only a few side effects. There were even fewer places that someone could get their hands on them too. 

Bucky snorted as he inched himself back, trying to use the headboard to help him sit up. He would bet half his current target’s price that Steve probably had some connections with his military buddies, both in and out of the service, for information and resources. Which, was totally illegal but it wasn’t as if Bucky of all people was about to out the man out. If anything, it only made him respect the man that much more. Bless Steve’s devious, rule-breaking goodie-two-shoes self. 

The door to the room shook, and he felt the air pressure change. It was followed by the soft thump of the apartment door closing. He was hoping Steve hadn’t decided to call the cops. Bucky was fairly confident he could manage to escape either the police cruiser or the jail eventually, but it would put him in a tight spot. The Red Room didn’t look kindly on operatives who allowed themselves to get captured by the authorities, and it would certainly ruin the anonymity he’d held onto for years. 

Steve’s deep voice echoed down the hallway. “And I can only say I’m sorry so many times, Sam.” There was a pause, and Bucky listened carefully. Steve snorted. “Well, how about I make it up to you? No, not now, I told you I’m...busy with this latest contract. But when it’s all done, I’ll make it up to you...yes, it’s a promise.” 

Wife? Husband? Girlfriend? Boyfriend? He would totally curse the hell out of uni-sex names if he didn’t respect the fuck out of them. Bucky didn’t know precisely where Steve’s attractions laid, but that was either a person he was dating or a person who had his number. The only other person who could stick a man on a pike and make him squirm that hard was a lover or a sibling and considering Steve never mentioned a sibling that night he poured his soul out, Bucky highly doubted it was the later. 

“I’ll let you know, okay? Yes, I am trying to get rid of you, I just got home and want to relax. Uh-huh. Talk to you later,” Steve continued, the sound of his voice getting closer. 

Bucky didn’t have long before the door opened, and Steve entered the bedroom. The large man’s blue eyes flitted to Bucky’s face and then down his body. For a moment, Bucky was tempted to make another lewd comment. He was the man’s prisoner after all, and if teasing Steve, and earning another uncomfortable silence or awkward pause was a way to gain some entertainment, Bucky couldn’t be blamed. Instead, he stared back at the man, smiling faintly. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d told the man that had they been in a different set of circumstances, he’d be completely attracted to Steve. The man was both physically attractive and formidable, but more importantly, he was capable. And Bucky was ready to jump the fuck over any capable man. While Bucky was sure that if they were made to fight for real, he would come out the winner, Steve wasn’t exactly a slouch in that department either. The man knew how to use his body in a fight only slightly less deftly than he used his mind to outwit his competition. And God save him, he did like that good boy vibe about him. Steve was like a concoction blended directly for Bucky to consume him whole. 

Steve cleared his throat and held up a bottle of water. “Pretty sure you’ll need this.” 

Bucky was suddenly viscerally aware of just how dry his mouth and throat were. Part of him rebelled against the idea of being beholden to Steve for anything. Yet, he was endlessly practical and knew that pride wasn’t going to serve him well for anything. Plus, he suspected Steve was offering the bottle of water for the same reason he’d placed Bucky on the bed while he’d been out cold. 

Bucky tested his bindings. “I think I can drink, but you’ll probably have to take the cap off for me.” 

“Done and done,” Steve said, twisting the top off and placing the cold bottle into Bucky’s hands. Bucky didn’t bother trying to remain dignified. Using his bound hands clasped around the bottle, he bent the bottle toward his lips and proceeded to drink eagerly. The water was thankfully deliciously refreshing, but not ice cold. He felt the liquid hit his gut and cool it in a wash, and his throat and mouth gave a silent cry of relief. 

Bucky sighed in delight as the last of it disappeared. “Thank you.” 

“I’ve been on the receiving end of that stuff before, the cotton-mouth afterward is a bitch,” Steve said as he took the empty bottle back. 

“I wondered if it was military stuff,” Bucky admitted. 

Steve nodded, crushing the bottle and twisting the top back on like a total dork. “Yeah, you never know when something like that will come in handy.” 

“What could you possibly need to be dosed with that stuff for?” Bucky asked curiously. 

Steve smiled humorlessly. “Sometimes, you get hurt in the field, but that doesn’t mean your brain leaves the field.” There was what Bucky could only call the ghost of a memory lurking in the back of Steve’s eyes as he gazed at the wall absently. Bucky wasn’t surprised, considering the background information Steve gave on his website for his business. The facts had been scarce, but Bucky knew all too well the sort of things men and women were put through when it came to battle and war. A long time warrior like Steve was bound to have seen plenty to haunt his waking hours. 

“Sometimes gets hard to tell the difference between a dream and reality,” Bucky said. 

Steve snorted, tossing the bottle into the wastebasket. “Yeah, sometimes. Takes a little while to sort through them.” 

Bucky watched him, feeling a twinge of sympathy, and a deep understanding. It was a strangely human moment for the two of them, caught between Bucky’s assigned task, and Steve’s preferred role. And yet Bucky could understand the man’s problems all too well. He wondered how Steve would react if he was to spill just a  _ teaspoon  _ of his own life experiences. He wondered if Steve would even care. 

Steve shook his head, expression hardening all too fast for Bucky to comprehend, wondering if he’d accidentally said something out loud. “Don’t do that.” 

“Do what?” Bucky stared at him in bewilderment. . 

“Act like you get it. You kill in cold blood.”

And there went that brief moment of understanding. 

Bucky snorted, turning his face away from Steve and looking toward the curtained windows instead. Okay, maybe it had been a little foolish to think they were ‘having a moment’. Maybe Widow was right, and he was starting to slip. Maybe his time was up. It just wasn’t like him to get sentimental, even if it was in the privacy of his own thoughts. Still he couldn’t help himself from calling Steve out on his shit. “Not that that isn’t a bit hypocritical or anything,” Bucky said softly, matter-of-factly. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve demanded. 

Bucky jerked his head to face Steve once again. “You really expect me to believe you never killed? You never gunned someone down or gutted them with a knife in cold blood?” 

“That was different.” 

Bucky sat up, his brows rising. “Oh? And how’s that?” 

“I did what I had to do to survive. What the hell are you supposed to do when someone’s coming at you with a gun, a grenade, hell, a rusty knife? Just roll over and take it?” Steve asked, practically swelling with indignation. 

Bucky snorted. “Oh, you kill them outright, had to do it myself. The main difference between your job as a killer for the government and mine as a killer for hire is  _ I  _ know who I’m killing. I know about their lives, their jobs, their families. I know everything about them there is to know.” 

“That’s exactly my point.” 

“No, your point is that you blindly killing people in service to your country somehow makes you morally superior to me. You killed people who were fighting for what they believe in, and because they believed it so strongly that they were willing to fight for it, die for it. But me? I kill people who are guaranteed monsters.” 

Steve’s hands balled into fists at his side. “And you think that makes it better?” 

“The only one trying to make anything bad or good here is you. I gave up the need to moralize my actions a long time ago. You, however, apparently need it to feel okay with the blood on your hands. So judge me all the hell you want, but don’t for a minute think I’m convinced that I’m the worst person in the room.” 

God, why did he even care what Steve thought of him? Why did he hate the look of anger and blame in the man’s eyes? Bucky had been taking lives for years, and he was damned good at it too. The shame and guilt had been ripped from him many years ago, his mentor had seen to that. Schmidt had always been a cold bastard, but he’d known what weaknesses he needed to purge from the teenager in his charge. Bucky had absorbed those lessons well, some were slower to take to than others, but he took to them all the same. 

_ Never leave a mess _ , that was just another way of saying you never left a trail to be followed. 

_ Be quick, quiet, and show absolutely no mercy _ . Drive the blade home, pull the trigger, whatever it took to kill the target, but never look back on it with anything less than satisfaction. 

Judgment at the hands of people like Steve was inevitable, but one who cast their morals aside could ignore it freely. So why the  _ fuck  _ did it bother him so much? 

Steve’s fists tensed, relaxed, tensed, and relaxed again, flexing incessantly. Bucky watched him, wondering faintly if the man was going to hit him. At least that would be a great deal easier to deal with than his condemnation, the almost disappointment. But to his surprise, Steve let out a slow breath, relaxing his hands, and sat down on the end of the bed. “You’re right,” Steve muttered. 

Bucky blinked. “What?” 

Steve looked down at his lap, obscuring half his face. “I said you’re right. I can sit here and judge you all I want, but I’ve got blood on my hands too. Tried to tell myself for a long time that what I did was right, what I did was just. Works pretty well when you don’t think about it too much. Just keep your training in mind, follow your orders, and keep busy with the job. And when you’re on leave, or just have some downtime? Well, you find different ways to distract yourself. Drink, sex, anything really.” 

Well, that sounded eerily familiar. Enough that Bucky found himself staring at Steve in dumbfounded silence. It wasn’t so much the idea that they had perhaps followed similar patterns to avoid their own thoughts and memories that jolted Bucky. No, it was the sudden, unnerving idea that perhaps they were avoiding the same things for the same reasons.  _ Christ _ , had he really been slipping all along? 

Steve looked up, giving him a half-smile. “That why you do what you do?” 

“Kill people?” 

“Kill a certain type of person or people, I guess,” Steve shrugged, tilting his head curiously. 

“I…” Bucky began, forcing himself to take a breath and school his features. “I kill those people because they are the most challenging. What’s the point of killing some banker or cheating spouse? No fun in that. Drug dealers and traffickers? Now they’re the ones with the real security, they possess the true challenge for someone like me. I’m good at it. So why waste what I do on useless people?” 

Steve watched him for almost a full minute, and Bucky found himself forced to stare back at the man. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt uncomfortable under Steve’s gaze in the last ten minutes, but Bucky certainly wasn’t getting used to the feeling anytime soon. What exactly was the man thinking and seeing? 

“Weren’t you just chiding me for making you out to be the bad guy?” Steve finally asked. 

“Yes. What’s your point?” 

“Why do that in the first place if you really don’t care about what you do? For that matter, if you’re just doing it for the thrill, why justify it to someone like me at all?” 

“Someone like you?” 

“Someone who was clearly ready to call you all sorts of names.” 

Bucky didn’t quite know how to answer Steve’s questions. As much as he had rebelled against being judged by the man, the look of soft understanding in the man’s face was even worse. Christ, he could not be getting soft, and damn it, he had not been soft the whole time. Being soft opened him up to a whole new slew of problems he was not prepared to deal with. Being soft would get him killed. Didn’t everyone in his line of work find ways to deal with what they did? Didn’t they get picky about assignments, wonder what it would be like to be free, to dream of a normal life now and again? It was normal. He  _ wasn’t  _ slipping. 

Bucky took a deep breath, hating how it shook. “Look, is this your way of trying to get into my pants, or just tell me you believe me about your boss?” 

Steve blinked. “Get into your...you know, that reminds me.” 

“Oh?” Bucky asked with a smirk. 

“Don’t even go there, you’re not distracting me.” 

“Shame.” 

“That night at the bar…” 

Bucky made a soft sound of understanding. “If you’re about to ask if that was an intentional meeting, then no. Trust me, I was pretty surprised to see the handsome tank of a man suddenly working alongside the target I had accepted.” 

“Handsome, huh?” Steve asked. 

Bucky scowled. “Now who’s trying to be distracting?” 

Steve chuckled. “It’s the first genuinely nice thing you said about me, I couldn’t resist.” 

“No, it’s the first genuinely nice thing I said about your appearance. Think back a bit, and you’ll find I actually complimented you.” 

“When’s that?” 

“It’s commendable to have moral fiber. Stupid and suicidal in my line of work, but for someone who’s been through some shit like you probably have, it’s good. All too easy to become a brute who uses their strength and skills against other people.” 

“The sort of people you hunt down and kill.” 

“Those would be the ones.” 

“But even then, you don’t have a moral code, right?” 

“Now you’re just being stubborn.” 

“Pot meet kettle.” 

Bucky glared at him, debating whether or not he could get away with kicking the man. Deciding that he couldn’t do worse than being tied up and possibly drugged again, he raised his bound legs and heaved them against Steve’s side. The large man gave a yelp as he toppled off the edge of the bed and hit the ground. 

“What the hell?” Steve demanded as he picked himself up off the floor. 

Bucky gave him a smug look. “Nothing like a boot to the ass to get rid of some self-righteousness.” 

“I was not being self-righteous!” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“Well, excuse me for trying to see you as something other than a bloodthirsty killer for hire.” 

“Damn right,” Bucky told him, smirk widening. 

“God,” Steve grumbled as he picked himself up from the floor. “Catch yourself an assassin, and find a brat instead.” 

“I’m tied up, I have to entertain myself somehow.” 

“We both know that if you wanted to, you could get out of that,” Steve said with a raised brow. 

“Hmm, probably. Isn’t that why you drugged me?” 

“And you let me.” 

True, he had. Even tied up and restricted, Bucky was sure he could have put up a fight. With anyone else, he might have. Steve, however, was a rather capable person, and Bucky really didn’t want to test his skills against the man while at a severe handicap. Worse, and he cursed himself inwardly for it, he didn’t really want to upset or hurt the guy. He  _ wasn’t  _ slipping, but that didn’t mean he had to turn away a potential ally. 

Bucky looked at him again, smile disappearing. “Does this mean you believe me? You never did answer me.” 

Steve hesitated. “I...I don’t know. Everything you said about him is right so far. None of it makes any sense whatsoever. And if you’re telling the truth about the sort of people you go after…” 

Bucky snorted. “Then that means you’ve been protecting the worst sort of person. Of course, that means I have to be telling the truth in the first place, and you have no reason to believe I am.” 

“I have a reason,” Steve said. 

“Oh? What’s that?” 

“A feeling. A gut feeling. And if there’s one thing I learned to listen to over the years, it’s my gut.” 

Bucky wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He didn’t blame Steve for not believing him, it came with the territory for people like Bucky who operated outside society’s laws. Still, it was a rather strange and somewhat uncomfortable feeling to think the man might be willing to try to believe him on the justification of a hunch. “So, what are you going to do?” Bucky asked him. 

Steve sighed. “Break one of my professional rules and snoop.” 

Bucky chuckled. “I notice you specified professional, rather than personal.” 

“Justifying things can be tricky, I’m sure you know all about that,” Steve said, flashing him a cheeky smile. 

“And what are you going to do about me?” Bucky asked. 

Steve considered that for a moment and then heaved a huge sigh. “And there’s the problem. I don’t know.” 

Bucky wriggled his fingers, wondering if maybe his freedom was close. “Well, I clearly don’t want to kill you.” 

“I’m comforted by that.” 

Bucky ignored him. “And you clearly want to know if your boss is who I keep saying he is.” 

“Right, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you go off and kill the man while I’m trying to figure things out,” Steve admitted.

“No. But what if I say I won’t kill him? Well, I won’t try to go after him while you’re...soul searching.” 

Steve eyed him warily. “And why would you do that?” 

Now that was a damn good question. A  _ too  _ good question. One that he couldn’t begin to dissect otherwise his head would implode. Was there even a simple answer? 

Eventually, Bucky shrugged. “Because in case you haven’t noticed, I don’t like people getting in the way if they don’t have to be. So long as you’re unsure about him, you’re going to keep protecting him. Which mucks up my job and puts someone who’s actually a decent person in harm’s way.” 

“Moral code?” Steve asked with a raise of his brow. 

“Professional rule.” 

“So, no attempts on his life, no watching him, no nothing?” Steve asked. 

Like a kid in Boy Scouts, he raised his hand to the best of his ability, holding three fingers up. “I solemnly swear that I will do nothing that would contribute to the killing of your asshole of a boss.” That he meant it wasn’t in question for Bucky. What he was really curious about was what Steve would do if he found out the truth? If he wanted to be considerate, he could simply show Steve all the information he had, but considering Steve wasn’t completely ready to trust his word just yet, Bucky thought his files might be considered fruit of the poisonous tree. But what would Steve do if he  _ did  _ get confirmation? Would he just step aside, or would he still protest? 

Bucky held his bound arms out. “What do you say?”

* * *

Steve

* * *

Steve stared down at the bound assassin warily. As much as he wanted to believe Bucky, and hope that he could trust him, his professional caution pulled him back from committing right away. The man was someone who made their living through sneaking, lying, manipulating, and ultimately killing other people. It would be so  _ stupid  _ to go into this blindly, letting other parts of his body do the talking instead of his brain. 

Bucky’s outstretched arms sagged slightly. “Can’t say I blame you. Not like people in my line of work are very trustworthy.” 

It was precisely what Steve had just been thinking, but hearing it come out of Bucky’s mouth made it sound so awful. There was no disputing that Bucky had done everything he could to keep collateral damage to the absolute minimum, to the point of risking his job and life. Not all hit-men did that. And if Bucky was telling the truth, he also took care to make sure the people he killed were...well, Steve wasn’t sure if he wanted to say they deserved it, but they certainly wouldn’t be missed. Whether Bucky would admit it or not, it did speak of someone better than a bloodthirsty assassin. And God save him, he hated the resignation tinting Bucky’s voice. 

Steve reached into his pocket and drew out the folding knife he kept there. Flipping it open, he took hold of the ropes intricately tied and knotted around Bucky’s wrists and arms. The bones there were delicate, Steve had noted earlier, as if all it would take is one strong squeeze and they could go snapping in half. They would be easy to manage in one hand as he held them above Bucky’s head and-- 

Licking his lips, Steve brought the blade close to the ropes and with a deft slice, the rope was cut clean and freed Bucky’s arms. Next came the legs, drawing a low sigh from Bucky as he flexed his now free limbs. “Waste of perfectly good rope,” Bucky noted, rubbing at his arms. 

“Easier than trying to undo every knot,” Steve said as he put the blade away. 

“I wasn’t going to say it, but it did seem like an excessive amount of knots.” 

“Is this your way of fishing for a compliment?” 

“No, but it is nice to see I’m estimated about as much as I estimated you.” 

There it was again, the oddly modest demeanor that Bucky had about him. Steve had half-figured that people like Bucky would be overly smug, cocky bastards who knew they were badass and had no shame in proclaiming it. Bucky certainly didn’t lack for confidence in his skills but he seemed to accept it as a matter of fact rather than something he felt the need to rub someone else’s nose in. 

A little pleased at the compliment, Steve had to ask. “Where did you learn to do all that?” 

Bucky looked up. “Do all what?” 

“You know how to get around undetected, you can get through security no problem, you can handle weapons, and you can handle yourself in a fight. Those aren’t things that people just...pick up. You had to be taught,” Steve explained. 

“No…” Bucky agreed, his voice dying out a bit as he scooted to the end of the bed. “I was trained.” 

“By?” 

“By...the people I work with,” the brunet answered. His replies were draggish, as if he was thinking through things carefully. There was also a look in his eyes that Steve wasn’t entirely sure he liked. “And then I was assigned a mentor. He taught me the basics, built the foundation, but he made me into the weapon I am.” 

Steve winced. “That all you are then, a weapon?” 

Bucky snorted. “And what were you to the government?” 

“Disposable.” 

“Exactly. Any other questions?” 

“Yeah, how old were you?” 

“For what?” 

“You know what. For when you were brought into this life, when you started getting trained.” 

Bucky hesitated, looking away. The muscles in his jaw worked beautifully as he appeared to think it over. “Eight for what counted as the Red Room. Thirteen when I was introduced to my mentor. I didn’t… I didn’t get my first target until I was fifteen. It’s been smooth sailing ever since,” Bucky sighed, tone dry and distant. 

“Jesus,” Steve muttered. Well, that certainly explained a lot. Bucky’d been just a kid. A baby, forced into that lifestyle. What a nightmare it must have been for Bucky’s target’s to be faced down with a mere kid skilled with nothing but the knowledge of how to kill. 

“For fuck’s sake, don’t look at me like that,” Bucky hissed. “My life wasn’t exactly phenomenal before my parents got their stupid asses killed, and I got found by the Red Room. If anything, it was better than wasting away in the system and being shuffled around like someone else’s luggage,” Bucky huffed as he stood up. 

“Is that how you see it?” Steve asked. 

“Can I use your bathroom?” Subtle. Classic avoidance but a bit amateur for someone of Bucky’s skillset. 

Steve jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “Go ahead.” He watched Bucky as the man passed him on the way to the bathroom. There was a grace to his movements Steve had never been able to appreciate before. Knowing what he did, Steve couldn’t help but wonder if what he was seeing was the product of Bucky’s natural dexterity or the forced training of his youth. 

He stirred from his thoughts when he heard the shower turn on, drawing a chuckle from him. “Help yourself,” Steve murmured as he stepped into the hallway to go to the kitchen. His thoughts didn’t leave what Bucky had told him. How was it that someone ended up being snatched from their life and thrown into assassin bootcamp? It would certainly go a long way toward explaining why Bucky was so blasé about what he did. Bloodthirst was Steve’s original thought, followed quickly by sadism. Yet Bucky clearly took no sick pleasure in what he did, his actions more practical and realistic than anything ugly and mean. 

“God, eight years old,” he muttered as he began rummaging through the freezer for something to pop into the oven. He could ask what that sort of environment could do to someone, but he had a living breathing example using his shower. Steve had thought his own childhood had been hard enough but he couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be pulled from it and turned into a weapon. 

Yet despite all that, Steve thought it spoke in Bucky’s favor that the man had managed to retain some form of a soul throughout the process. His careful habit of avoiding unnecessary and possibly innocent bloodshed was a big one. The other, and Steve was growing convinced that Bucky wasn’t lying, was the choice of his targets. He didn’t know a damn thing about the man, and as Steve slid the frozen lasagna into the oven, he couldn’t find one good, logical reason to try to believe in the guy. Maybe it was just the fact that Bucky wasn’t as much of a monster as Steve had originally believed before he’d talked to him. 

Maybe it was seeing him, talking to him, witnessing Bucky cooperating instead of fighting him along the way. 

And maybe it was the defeated way he’d told Steve he had nothing and no one before the drugs had taken hold. 

Bucky’s voice came from behind him. “You wouldn’t happen to have any spare clothes that wouldn’t hang off me, would you?” 

Steve jerked, whirling around. 

Bucky’s hair stuck to his forehead, and he smirked. “Sorry, guess you didn’t hear me.” 

“Apparently, the fuck not,” Steve muttered. It was only then that he realized Bucky was standing in the doorway to the kitchen with only a towel wrapped around his waist. Steve blinked, unable to help as his eyes swept over the man’s bare, and still slightly damp body. He watched as a drop of water ran a trail between the man’s well-developed chest muscles and over the flat plane of his stomach, disappearing somewhere below the towel. He knew Bucky was in good shape, but it was something else entirely to see the man’s skin on display, from his bare shoulders to his narrow waist. Everything about him was just so… so--

“So, do you?” Bucky asked. 

Steve looked up, feeling his face grow warm. “Uh, there might be a pair of shorts or something in the closet. Can’t help you with the shirt, though.” 

“Shame. I’ll try my best to find something,” Bucky said, turning away. 

He’d already ogled the man to his face, so with Bucky’s back to him, Steve went in for the full view. He tilted his head as Bucky walked off, noting that the back of Bucky was just as impressive. Slim, delicate looking, yet muscular. Steve certainly appreciated a good back on a man, and Bucky had that. 

But… but it was the shape of Bucky’s ass against the towel that drew Steve’s eyes, however. Steve was so utterly, devastatingly fucked. 

“You--” Steve cleared his throat at its roughness, “--staying for dinner?” he asked. 

“Figured I might as well stay under supervision for a little while. Don’t want you getting nervous and charging off to save your boss,” Bucky called back. 

_ Oh God _ , was he staying the night? 

“You don’t mind if I steal the couch, right? I’ll take the floor if I need to,” Bucky continued from somewhere down the hall. 

“Uh, no, that’s fine. I have to work early,” Steve said, resisting the urge to go see what Bucky was doing even though every inch of him itched to do so. 

“Oh, yes, who could’ve forgotten? You hafta go play bodyguard.” 

Steve frowned but didn’t say anything in response. In truth, he hadn’t lied to Bucky, Steve truly wanted to discover if there was any truth to Bucky’s accusations. Everything the man had said about Pierce sat oddly in Steve’s gut, but he wasn’t making a decision until he had more information. In the meantime, he was apparently going to play host to the man he’d essentially been hired to stop. Steve had experienced a few odd events in his life, including having to hide out on a goat farm after his team had escaped an ambush, but somehow he thought the next handful of hours was going to be more awkward than being stuck in a barn with half a dozen billy goats. 

“And don’t think I didn’t see you eye fuck me either,” Bucky called. 

Yeah,  _ very  _ awkward.

***

Steve was awake before the sun’s light had begun to do much more than peek over the horizon. He supposed it was a little unfair to be relieved that he had lived to see the next day, but he felt it all the same. The apartment was quiet, with only the soft hum of the air conditioner kicking on to break the silence. The streets below were quiet, as the night owls and morning people had yet to cross paths on their ways home or to work. 

He dressed quickly, forgoing his morning shower. Walking as quietly as possible, he peered out into the living room. The second dose of relief struck him as he spied Bucky curled up on the couch beneath a blanket. In the low light of the faint rays through the curtains, Bucky looked so peaceful, so cozy. Steve was never one to lounge about, but he had never been more glad than he was right then that he had bought a decent couch, one big enough for Bucky to be comfortably stretched out. The brunet had still been awake when Steve had gone to bed, and Steve had wondered if the man would be there again when he returned. Once more, he was struck by how young Bucky looked when he was asleep, and he wondered if the man had any pleasant dreams once in a while. 

Gathering up his phone and keys, he mused at how his initial prediction about the night before had been completely off. Despite his relatively amicable demeanor when dealing with Steve, Bucky had lapsed into silence. He’d murmured a thanks when Steve had returned his bag full of supplies but had said little more than that. 

As Steve drove to Pierce’s office, he found himself wondering if it was such a good idea to leave Bucky alone. Then again, he had let the man sleep in his apartment without any issues. All he could do was hope Bucky stuck to his word and didn’t make a move for Pierce. Though Steve would be the first to admit he found Bucky’s silence a little unnerving, he wondered what the man was plotting. 

When he got to the office, Steve began his sweep. Security had become considerably tighter since he’d come into Pierce’s employ, but that didn’t stop him from making random checks. He checked the supply room and the small offices that were rarely used by anyone. Inevitably he would make his way to the back, but as per his routine, he checked Pierce’s office as well. Steve didn’t bother to check the office when he entered it, the source of danger for Pierce was currently asleep on his couch after all. Instead, he made his way immediately to the desk, where Pierce’s work computer sat. 

Over the past couple of weeks, Steve had unintentionally been witness to Pierce’s password numerous times. It wasn’t the first time on a job Steve had witnessed passwords, passcodes, or once, a passphrase. This would be the first time he’d ever used one, though. 

The computer stirred to life after he hit the power button. His heart began to speed up as the password screen came up, and he promptly typed it in. Steve wouldn’t have much time before someone came looking for him. Everyone knew he was in the building, and Steve was sure the receptionist would have already messaged Pierce to let him know he was there. If Bucky’s assumptions about Pierce were right, there would be something somewhere. Pierce’s work computer was a bit of a stretch, but considering how much time the man spent on it, compared to his home computer, Steve hoped that if there was something to find, it would be on there. 

His eyes darted to the door as he tried to open files and scan their contents as quickly as possible. The click of the mouse every time he opened something sounded loud in the quiet office. He knew it was impossible to be heard through the thick office door and down the hallway, but his nervous brain told him Ms. Sarkissian was sure to hear it eventually. He was made for combat and strategy, not being sneaky like Bucky. 

The only thing left was a file marked ‘HYDRA’. Most of the folders were marked with their own nicknames, apparently for Pierce’s sake. But as the minutes ticked by, the whole thing was turning into a wild goose chase, and his only hope would be to go through Pierce’s personal computer at home. He paused as the folder opened, reading the subfolder names. Steve cracked the folders open again and found a list of files. Each had their own title, based on random objects, he clicked on the one without a name, one that just had a star. 

Steve’s eyes widened as a detailed sheet opened on the screen. Attached to various physical attributes, background information, and even work history was a collection of young adults, some so young they looked like mere teenagers. 

Heart hammering, Steve jammed a flash drive into the computer and closed the file, copied the contents of the star folder to the device. A thump from the hallway brought his head up sharply. Breath catching, he quickly closed the folders, yanking the device from the computer and shoving it into his pocket. The door to the office opened just as he quickly hit the combination on the keyboard to put the computer to sleep. 

Balding and out of shape, Jasper Sitwell, one of Pierce’s associates, walked in and paused as he caught sight of Steve at the desk. Steve had never officially met the man, though he had seen him around the office a few times. Sitwell seemed to be as busy as Pierce himself was, and rarely did more than wave as he passed. Most of their business was done over the phone, and it was usually an argument. 

“Uh, you’re not Alexander,” Sitwell said. 

Steve flashed a smile he hoped was genuine. “Nope, just doing my normal security sweep of the office before Mr. Pierce comes in.” 

“You check his desk?” 

“Considering I found a bomb under his driver’s seat, I thought it important to do a full sweep of his office, especially where he’s normally going to be sitting.” 

Sitwell watched him for a long moment, brow shining with sweat. “Right. So, he’s not in yet?” 

Steve stood up from the desk. “No, I have to go fetch him and bring him here. I can have him call you when we get back.” 

Sitwell gave him a nervous smile. “No, that’s fine. You just...I’ll tell him myself.” 

Steve really didn’t like how uncomfortable the man was being. The last thing he needed was for the nervous-looking man to tell Pierce about finding him at his desk. It felt like the flash drive full of evidence was practically screaming into the awkwardly quiet room. “Alright, well, I should probably continue with my sweep. I still have to check how security is holding up,” Steve said, walking around the desk. 

“Yeah, uh, good luck with that,” Sitwell muttered before practically darting out of the room. 

When the door shut behind him, Steve let out a shaky breath, unsure if he should be relieved or even more worried. Worse, he was going to have to continue with his job as though nothing was wrong. The files could have been nothing more than Pierce being obsessive about private bed partners, or perhaps just the files of people from various charities and businesses. 

But Steve wasn’t naive. 

A sinking feeling in his gut told him that he was grasping at straws.


	6. Chapter 6

Bucky

* * *

Letting out a deep breath, Bucky stepped into his hotel room. The first thing he did was scan the room for anything out of place. He’d hung the sign on the doorknob outside, specifying he didn’t want housekeeping, but he wasn’t going to be dumb enough to believe that it would stop all people. 

Which is why he placed things in specific spots, angling them in ways that only his eyes would find the difference in. Hell, he’d even lined up a stray thread in the sheets with a notch in the bed, just to make sure if anything had been touched, he’d know. 

Call him paranoid as fuck, but it was what the job demanded of him. 

After he found nothing out of place, he returned to his bag, dragging it out from beneath the bed and pulling out his laptop. As the computer booted up, he dug his phone out as well and took a deep breath before he called the only contact in his phone. 

In three rings, her voice clicked onto the line. “James. Are you reporting your success?” 

Bucky took another deep breath. “No. I need the files for the target sent to me once more.” 

There was a pause on the other end. Then, “You didn’t keep them?” 

“No, I never keep anything on a device that I’ll have to leave unsupervised for long. I looked them over and deleted them when I was done.” 

Widow made a noise of approval. “Smart,” she agreed. “...But why do you need them again?” 

Because he was hoping Steve found enough proof to be willing to see what Bucky had to show him and believe him. Whether or not that would be enough to make Steve step out of the way -  _ willingly  _ \- and let Bucky do his job was something else entirely. Bucky had to tell himself that it was just like any other job he’d done before, he had to take it one step at a time. 

“Because there may be something in it that will help me get through the complications I told you about,” Bucky told her. 

Widow hummed. “Hmm, this job is proving to be more complicated than either of us was led to believe,” she commented. 

“Tell me about it.” 

There was a short pause before Widow spoke again. “I can send them to you. But I do have to wonder if perhaps there isn’t something...else happening here.” 

Bucky gripped the phone tighter. “Meaning?” 

“Meaning you’ve been rather strange these past few months.” 

Bucky sighed. “So you’ve mentioned before, but as I’ve said, I’m fine.” 

“You wouldn’t be the first operative to start looking for a way out.” 

“And if I ever want someone to come put a bullet in my skull, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Oh. Having yourself retired forcefully is certainly one way to go about it. Though not the only one.” 

Bucky hesitated. “That so?” 

“Do you truly believe that every agent that’s retired has died?” 

Died isn’t what he would have called it. More like intentionally killed. Then again, maybe some willingly put their gun in their mouth and pulled the trigger. 

“That does seem to be the trend, doesn’t it?” 

“Or appears to be,” Widow corrected quietly. 

Bucky frowned, forcing his fingers to grip the phone a little less tightly. There’d been several agents he knew of by reputation who’d been killed, either in the line of work or someone sent by the Red Room. He had never heard of any of them walking away, and he hadn’t heard about them being seen later. Then again, the Red Room purged the files of their operatives after death. At their death, official or just reported, there would be nothing left to identify an agent. No picture or name, as if they just vanished into thin air and everything associated with them went along with them. 

“I’ll take your silence as understanding.” 

Bucky let out a soft laugh. “And no one in the Red Room would think to confirm these apparently ‘just reported’ deaths?” 

“Someone does.” 

Bucky’s lips parted. “The handlers.” 

“Correct. And as your handler, it is my job to supply you with the information and resources necessary to complete your contracts. It is also my duty to keep an eye on you and to follow up on any injuries... or your death. Handlers are required to do a lot of the work when it comes to administration. Put too much information into the hands of too many people, and the risk of being caught or the whole operation falling apart is too great.” 

“But put it into the hands of just a few skilled handlers, and only individual ‘cells’ are in danger, rather than the whole,” Bucky finished for her. 

“Precisely.” 

Bucky took the moment to process that, letting the insinuation settle into his mind. He had never truly considered the idea of getting out from beneath the Red Room’s thumb before. The possibility had never seemed likely, not without him being thrown into a body bag first. But here it was, Widow was offering him a way out, and faking his own death wouldn’t exactly be difficult. The real problem was whether or not he could believe Widow was telling him the truth, and if she really would play the part she was inferring she would. 

Bucky cleared his throat. “What a fascinating insight into the inner workings of our beloved agency.” 

“Oh, yes, I know how inquisitive you can be. I figured you would enjoy a little peek.” 

“You could say that.” 

“In other news, I’ve sent the files you requested. I would download them quickly if I were you. And figure out a way to get through this contract, one way or another, before the Red Room starts to take notice.” Yes, the  _ last  _ thing he needed was the eyes of the Red Room coming down on him. He’d been working for them long enough that they pretty much gave him free rein. The last thing he needed was their attention when he found himself being offered a possible exit route. And especially to put their attention on Steve who would be ended effective immediately considering he was too close to the whole operation. 

There were only so many risks that Bucky would take. 

“The matter will be settled soon,” Bucky told her. 

“I look forward to the results.” The call ended with a beep, and Bucky stared at the phone, wondering if Widow was being honest with him or not. Then again, if she wasn’t, he’d end up dead with no chance to worry about where his life was going anyway. It wasn’t the most optimistic of thoughts, but there was a strange, fatalistic comfort to it. It felt… strange to be given the possibility of a choice. 

He downloaded the files before disconnecting from the private, hidden server he and Widow shared. Whatever comfort he might get from his fate, he doubted Steve would get the same from the files. Whatever Steve might have seen in his lifetime, he seemed bound and determined to believe in the good of other people. That couldn’t have been more obvious than his dealings with Bucky. The man might have kept him prisoner for a while, but now suddenly Bucky was free.

In truth, Bucky should have taken advantage of the whole thing and immediately gone back to finish the job. Instead, he was trying to open Steve’s eyes to his boss’ crimes. Would it really help anything? All it would do was hurt Steve, as he was forced to deal with the fact he’d been helping a monster stay alive. Yet, even if Steve learned the truth, would he really let Bucky slay the monster once and for all? 

And for  _ that  _ matter, did Bucky want Steve to step aside? To vanish? Tucking the laptop under his arm, he exited the motel room. Whatever he might wonder, there was really only one way to find out.

***

He made his way back to Steve’s apartment shortly after the sun began to sink. With the laptop protected under his arm, he mounted the stairs in the apartment building, wondering what he was going to walk into. It did amuse him a little to reach out and knock on Steve’s door. Only a couple of nights before, he’d been slinking around outside the building to break in. Oh how life liked to play. 

The door opened, and Steve stood in the doorframe. From the raised brow and thinning lips, Bucky could see Steve hadn’t expected him. “Well, good evening,” Bucky said. “May I come in?” 

Steve stepped back with a grunt. “Wasn’t expecting you to come back any time soon.”

“Or at all, I’m sure,” Bucky said as he stepped in. The hallway light was on, but the computer sitting on the living room’s coffee table told him where Steve had been spending his time. Trying to remember that he was a guest, Bucky stepped into the room and waited until Steve had taken his position back on the couch before sitting down. 

“Yeah, or at all. I wasn’t surprised to see you gone when I got back from work. But thought you might call or something instead,” Steve told him as he sat. 

Bucky chose the chair nearest the couch to sit in. “Why’s that?” 

“Well, I can’t imagine you have too many happy memories of this place,” Steve said. 

Bucky chuckled. “Fair point, but I’ve made worse memories. It’s not like I hadn’t broken into your apartment to try and poison you. I think I got off pretty lucky with a bit of kidnapping and drugging.” 

Steve wrinkled his nose. “That makes it sound so…” 

“Ugly?” Bucky offered. 

“Yeah.” 

He shrugged, not thinking about how much more ‘ugly’ things he’d seen that left kidnapping and drugging seem like child’s play. “Don’t feel too bad,” he said. “You found yourself in quite the interesting predicament. Truth be told, if I’d found someone breaking into where I was staying, I would have asked far less questions. And, well, you know what I do so...” 

“So you wouldn’t ask a single question.” 

“Well, no, it doesn’t hurt to at least ask where someone came from and who they work for. Probably won’t get an answer, but it never hurts.” 

“You’re uh, very honest about this with me.” 

Bucky smiled. “You know what I do, Steve. You know what I am. There’s really no point in hiding the details from you.” 

Steve shook his head. “I didn’t mean it as a bad thing. Don’t get me wrong, it was a little weird, having you be so candid at first. But the more you do it, the more I grow to like it.” 

“I’m so glad you’re becoming comfortable with my job as an assassin for hire,” Bucky told him dryly. 

Steve looked up, frowning. “Was...that a joke?” 

“One at your expense.” 

Steve shook his head. “I didn’t mean that I’m okay with your job...but maybe I’m willing to get over it considering the people you go after.” 

At that, Bucky looked down at the computer sitting on the table. “Does that mean you discovered something?” 

Steve looked down, too, expression darkening. “I did a little bit of uh, looking around after I went into work today.” 

Bucky spotted the flash drive sticking out of the laptop. “And?” 

“I found...well, files. Lots of ‘em, actually. Buried in them was this collection,” Steve said softly, eyes stuck on the screen. 

Bucky sat his own laptop on the table. “Collections. Business dealings?” 

“People.” 

Bucky nodded. “Men and women, mostly women. All young and good looking. Most of them are barely legal. Some of them with skills that would make them great housekeepers or even managers.” 

Steve looked up, rubbing his jaw nervously. “You knew.” 

“Of course. I’ve known the whole time,” Bucky said, nudging the laptop toward him. 

Steve looked down, lips thinning. “Let me guess, you’ve got more than this.” 

“You’ve found enough to confirm your worst fears. What I have on here will make all that even more true, and will add to it,” Bucky told him. 

Steve pulled it closer to him, pushing his own computer to the side. “Why didn’t you show this to me before?” 

“Honestly? Because you weren’t ready to believe me yet. You were willing to listen, but you didn’t want to believe the guy you’ve been working for could do something like this.” 

“Wow,” Steve said airly, the look on his face a sheer display of impression. “When you’re being honest, you really go full force, don’t you?” 

“You wanted the truth, but you had to do the first step on your own. I reattained these files while you were at work. I didn’t know how long it would take you to get the information you needed, but I wanted them on hand for when it happened.” 

“And now that I know…” 

“You get to know everything.” 

Steve opened the laptop, staring down at the screen as it lit up. “I’m going to want a drink for this, aren’t I?” 

Bucky gave him a knowing smile. “You’ll want one when you’re done, I’m sure. But you should probably keep a sober head while you’re reading.” 

“And lucky me since I don’t have a drink in the house.” 

Bucky reached out, patting the man’s knee. He refused to note how thick the man’s thighs were, and how the flesh was practically solid. “I’ll go get some. Beer or something stronger?” 

“Bring me anything, just make sure it’s strong.” 

Bucky’s hand lingered on Steve’s knee for more than a few seconds, before finally squeezing it and pulling away. It didn’t seem fair, making Steve have to face the truth especially alone, but on the other hand, it would have been worse to keep it from him. The moment Bucky had decided to start talking, while he was tied up on Steve’s floor, he had committed himself to align with Steve. Anything less than honesty would have been an insult to the man Steve had grown to respect. 

“Alright, I’ll be back,” Bucky said, standing up. 

“Thank you,” Steve told him as he opened the files. 

“Thank me only after you’ve read everything,” Bucky muttered as he walked out.

* * *

Steve

* * *

It took the better part of two hours for Steve to comb through everything Bucky had brought him. By the time he’d finished, it felt like his head was going to explode. 

Bucky hadn’t been kidding when he’d said that there was a lot of information there. The brunet man had returned after being gone for about half an hour or so, and had been silent ever since as he thumbed a worn looking paperback. 

When Steve was finished, he let himself fall back against the couch and let out a slow, deep breath. Seconds later, Bucky was leaving the room only to return less than a minute later, placing a tall glass full of clear liquid and ice in front of him. 

Steve took hold of it, hoping it contained alcohol and took a deep drink. He coughed as fruit and bitterness hit his tongue. “Oh, what the hell is this?” 

Bucky smirked as he sat down in the chair. “Flavored vodka and tonic water.”

“God, people drink this? It’s like bitter strawberries.” 

“ _ I _ drink it. The bitterness keeps me from drinking something too quickly.” 

Steve wrinkled his nose. “Better to just drink water if you’re not wanting to get drunk.” 

“Sometimes, I want to get a nice buzz, but I can’t afford to get drunk. You never know.” 

Steve himself was familiar with the sense of paranoia, just not when he was stateside. Sure, he still liked to put his back to a wall, or face a doorway, but he at least let himself get drunk once in a while. The only times he was ever as paranoid and watchful as Bucky seemed to be, was when he was deployed. “I guess you’re always ‘on’, aren’t you?” he asked, taking another sip. Booze was booze after all. 

Bucky gave him a humorless smile. “Sleep with one eye open. Also, make sure to walk around with eyes in the back of your head and trust nothing.” 

“And no one?” Steve asked. 

“Trusting other people can be quite the hazard in this line of work,” Bucky said. 

Steve knew better than to ask if that same thing applied to him. More than likely, Bucky would answer honestly. Steve wouldn’t have blamed him for not trusting him, hell it wasn’t as if Steve had trusted Bucky to begin with but… but after seeing everything laid out in front of him, though, Steve really didn’t feel like he had any other choice but to believe him. “Kinda funny that you thought I needed to do my own research before you showed me this,” Steve said, motioning toward Bucky’s laptop. 

“Why’s that?” 

“That was uh, quite the exhaustive packet of information you had there. So either that was true, or you and your...agency, have a lot of free time to try and fake all that.” 

Bucky hummed. “Well, we certainly have money and resources, but it would have been an elaborate scheme for them to make all that up. A good chunk of the information we receive comes from the client.” 

Which just begged even more questions. Who knew about Pierce’s business so much that they could get all this information? There were pictures galore of the temporary places where kidnapped people were brought and held. Pierce overseeing them, meeting with other people who had their own files filled with their infamous hand in the trafficking. There had been stolen expense reports, carefully monitoring Pierce’s whereabouts. And the transcripts. Whoever had hired Bucky through the Red Room, was someone that knew Pierce well. Someone who was close. 

“I guess that’s how he’s been doing it when I was with him,” Steve murmured. 

“What?” 

Steve shook his head. “If I ever wondered how Pierce was doing all this when I was around, some of these transcripts answer it.” 

“Yeah, I guess having secured contact with his...procurers and buyers certainly makes maintaining his image easier,” Bucky agreed. 

Worse than that, Pierce’s public image and job positioned him perfectly to find more people to grab. His own charities, plus those he helped, had contact with and information on plenty of people, most of whom were alone or wouldn’t be missed. Steve wondered just how many of the charities Pierce was involved in specifically dealt with the destitute and lonely. “Selling people,” Steve muttered, taking a bigger drink. 

"It happens all the time,” Bucky said softly. 

So had Steve. There were plenty of groups where he’d had to put his boots to the ground during deployment, who weren’t afraid to buy and sell people for their own gain. At least those people were fanatics, or just plain desperate in many cases. Pierce, though, there was no reason, no justification. Not even pure greed could cover the fact that he was using his position as a man of compassion to kidnap people and sell them off to be enslaved for life in some form. 

“You know, I thought I’d seen the worst of people, and could pick them out if I was around them long enough. But not once did I ever pick up on the fact that he was doing something like this,” Steve admitted, staring at his glass. 

“No, I bet not. He’s had a lot of people fooled.” 

“He should get an Oscar for his performance.” 

“I’m not sure they have one for ‘terrible person who pretends to be good’ in a real-life category.” 

“I suppose there would be a lot of candidates.” 

Bucky snorted. “Well, I suppose that’s what death row and people like me are for.” 

And there was the elephant in the room. Now that Steve couldn’t deny the truth of what Pierce was, what was he supposed to say to Bucky? They had never discussed what was going to happen once Steve made up his mind after seeing the information. Could he really just stand aside and let Bucky go off and kill Pierce? Then again, it wasn’t like he could just turn in the information about Pierce either. There would be just too many questions. 

Steve looked at him, really looked at him. Bucky was… beautiful. If Steve didn’t know the truth, he would have assumed that Bucky was just another type of innocent soul wandering the earth. Someone who shared his kindness and love with those all around him. He would have never guessed in a million years that someone with a face like that was someone who liked blood covering their hands, knives and guns and bombs at the ready. Was Bucky even the type of guy who would ever settle down?

“Don’t you ever get tired of it?” he asked softly. 

“Of my job?” 

“Of the life. You can’t bring yourself to drink too much. You can’t bring yourself to trust anyone. You have to constantly deal with the worst of humanity and then kill them. Doesn’t it ever get exhausting? Don’t you find it all to be too much sometimes?” 

Bucky turned quiet but Steve could see how  _ alive  _ his eyes were. The thoughts that must be running through his head… Bucky ran his fingers over his own glass thoughtfully. “Did you? I can’t imagine that you saw meadows and a bounty of human compassion while you were overseas.” 

Steve shook his head. “No, but I wasn’t alone. I had my team with me, my brothers and sisters.”

“Is that who Sam is?” 

Steve didn’t bother wondering how Bucky knew that. Instead, he let it slide, pulling out his phone and finding a picture of him and Sam, and then a picture of him with the Howling Commandos. “I didn’t meet Sam until I came back from deployment. He was my VA counselor and somehow he stuck around. These though…” he said, showing Bucky the group of men he’d willingly lay down his life for, “Called ourselves the Howling Commandos. We’ve been together through it all.”

Bucky’s eyes lingered on the screen for a long while. Steve watched him carefully, wishing more than anything that he could read the man’s mind. 

“You seem close… with Sam, too. I could tell from the way you talked to him on the phone,” Bucky said eventually as he pulled away. But there was a look on his face, one that Steve like all that much. 

Steve regarded Bucky closely, tilting his head to the side. “You ever have anyone like that?” 

Bucky seemed surprised by the question. As well as confused. “Me?” he asked and Steve nodded. Bucky’s tongue darted out and licked across his lips. “Uh, no. Not really,” Bucky said with a shake of his head. 

“No one? Not even before you were turned into a badass assassin?” 

Bucky laughed at that. The sound was unexpected, but not unpleasant. “Badass, huh?” But then just as quick as he’d lightened up, he was calming back down. Like a flip of the switch. “No, I’ve never really had anyone. No siblings. No parents. Or grandparents. Aunts or Uncles. It was just me. And then once I got to the Red Room…” Bucky’s voice trailed off and his eyes went distant just for a second before they were laser-focused once more. “It wasn’t… encouraged… to form… um, acquaintances.”

Steve’s heart hurt for Bucky, truly it did. Especially considering the age Bucky had been when he’d been ripped away from any normalcy of life and put into the Red Room. His life may not have been the most spectacular, but there were better options out there instead of being trained to become one of the greatest hit-men of all time. Steve chose his words carefully, making sure he wouldn’t ruin any fragile bonds that had already formed, “How did you end up there?”

From the look on Bucky’s face, the brunet had already anticipated the question. Considering how easily he took it to stride, Steve figured Bucky wanted him to know, which was definitely something. “My parents were killed. And before you ask, yes, I saw it. They weren’t good people and I know it’s probably fucked up to admit, but the world was probably better off without them. I don’t know why they were killed, but I guess they owed someone too much money or something,” Bucky said with a shrug. “I would have thanked the three guys who did it, but they were a little too preoccupied with dragging me away to make up for my parent’s debt.” 

Steve’s gaze darted down to their laptops. The sinking realization churred in his gut. “You were sold,” he whispered. 

Again, Bucky shrugged. “I was lucky. I was sold to the Red Room. They prefer getting their operatives from a young age. Makes us easier to train.” 

“Brainwash,” Steve corrected with a frown. 

Bucky looked up, his silver gaze distant. “I-- Yes, I suppose that’s the better definition. The better to train them and make them believe as you want them to. For me, I was just glad not to be in a cage anymore or afraid of when one of my parents would go into a rage and find me to take their anger out on. It wasn’t until I was made to hurt people for the first time that I really understood who the hell was in charge of me. So... I guess I’m not much better than my own parents.” There was no missing how Bucky’s voice was becoming bitter as he spoke. It only made Steve wonder if bright-eyed, little boy Bucky had went to the Red Room thinking he’d found a true home, only to come to the horrifying realization of what a home the place  _ wasn’t _ . Steve would do anything to grab that little boy and take him far, far, far away from that place. 

Steve kept watching him, silently wondering if this was the first time Bucky had ever talked about his life to anyone. It felt like a miracle that Bucky would admit this much, and while Steve would rather have the conversation aligned to something better, he wasn’t going to get tired of hearing Bucky’s voice. He  _ wanted  _ Bucky to keep talking, to keep revealing. He wanted to know Bucky.

Steve shrugged. He knew with every fiber in his soul that he was treading on a dangerously thin slab of ice. One wrong word and he’d go crashing through into the icy depths all while Bucky stayed on the other side, watching him drown. Steve took a deep breath, catching Bucky’s gaze. “I don’t know… I don’t think you’re doing too bad,” he said. 

Bucky gave a derisive snort. “Right. Killing people for money… I’m sure everyone is proud to be doing that. My parents would have been fucking ecstatic.”

“Maybe… maybe not,” Steve said. “But I think they would have started to see what I have.” 

Bucky watched him warily. “And what’s that?” 

“Someone who’s been doing the best with what he was given. You might not be the person you thought you’d be when you were a kid, but you haven’t lost yourself totally. Considering what you went through, it’s kind of a miracle you give a shit at all.” 

“You are not the first person to act as if there’s more there than there is,” Bucky said, tone chilly. 

Steve winked right at him. “Maybe I’m just being a little romantic, but yeah, I think there is. If you didn’t give a shit, you’d go after anyone, just for the sake of getting the job done. But you don’t, you go after people who, legal technicalities aside, deserve a bad end. You also try not to let other people get caught in the crossfire, and you...well, you didn’t have to do everything you’ve done to help me.” 

“I hardly consider shoving this information in your face as helping,” Bucky said dryly. 

“It is. Because I’d rather know the beast than continue plodding away behind it blindly, helping it,” Steve told him, meaning every word. 

Bucky stared at him for almost a full minute before turning his gaze back down to his glass. “Once, I might have told you you were being delusional. Once I might have even believed you were full of shit. But honestly, I’m beginning to wonder if there isn’t some truth to it.” 

“Maybe there’s a way to turn this around?” 

Bucky looked up again, frowning. “What? Steve, I know you haven’t made up your mind about what you're going to do with the information, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m here for a reason. That I’m after your boss for a reason. I’m going to kill him.” 

“And I get that, I do. But you’ve sat there and told me you’re not even sure if what you’re doing is right anymore. Deserving to die or not, maybe not killing Pierce might be the first step to finding your way out of this life,” Steve insisted. 

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. “And what, just let Pierce go?” 

Steve sighed. “He can’t continue to get away with this. I know there’s a better way of going about this than just...blindly doing what you’ve always done. You basically just told me that things have started being different for you.” 

“For one reason or another,” Bucky said cryptically, searching Steve’s face. 

“Then why not continue? Why not keep going with this new path and make a new life for yourself?” 

Bucky sat back, his gaze softening. “There’s only one way out of this life for people like me.” 

Steve hesitated. “And what’s that?” 

“I die,” Bucky said, smiling grimly, before aiming a finger pistol at his head and mimicking a gunshot as he pulled the trigger. 


	7. Chapter 7

Bucky

* * *

After their little talk, Steve seemed to lose his taste for talking. 

Bucky couldn’t entirely blame him, it hadn’t exactly been the most heartening of conversations. Not that it had been much better for him either. If he hadn’t enjoyed digging up the demons and ghosts of the past, he doubted Steve enjoyed listening to it very much. It certainly hadn’t done much for Bucky’s mood. In fact, it left him itching to go out and get the job done and over with once and for all. 

The problem was, he’d promised Steve he wouldn’t actively hunt for Pierce, at least not for a while. Admittedly, that promise had been made only until Steve found out the truth, but Bucky was willing to adhere to the spirit of the agreement, not just the letter. So rather than going out to put a bullet in Pierce’s head, he took to pacing around the apartment. He draped himself over the chair in the living room but didn’t find it very comfortable. Eventually, his mind started drifting to his memories, and he was back on his feet to step outside and stare down at the city. Night had fallen a couple hours before, and he was able to gaze out upon the lit sky as the partiers and graveyard shift workers all went about their business. He’d left his drink, half-finished, on the kitchen counter, but he began wishing he’d brought it with him. Oddly enough, he wasn’t as worried about drinking too much with Steve around. If his little bit of show and tell had been any indication, he apparently felt remarkably at ease with the other man. Bucky didn’t have any explanation for it, and thinking about it sat oddly in his mind. 

“You alright?” Steve asked. 

Bucky turned, having forgotten Steve was around in the first place. The man had taken refuge in his bedroom, apparently thinking hard about everything. The only time Bucky had seen him emerge in the past couple of hours had been for Steve to use the bathroom, and then refill his glass. The drink in question was nowhere in sight, but Bucky was sure it wasn’t too far behind. 

“Just...restless,” Bucky said, turning his gaze back to the skyline. 

“I know the feeling. There’s only so long I can sit around on my ass thinking about stuff before I get the itch to do something,” Steve said as he stepped onto the balcony with him. 

Bucky regarded him closely. “Something?” he asked. 

Steve shrugged. “You know, something, anything. I’m not good at just sitting around and thinking.” 

“I think you foiling my attempts at killing your boss more than once says you’re pretty good at thinking.” 

“No, that’s thoughtful doing. Sitting around here, brooding, is just...thinking. I’m bad at that.” 

Bucky had to laugh. “It worries me that what you said makes complete sense.” 

“Because you’ve seen it, or because you’re like that too?” 

“Because I’m just like that. Sitting around here, doing absolutely nothing, especially when I know there’s something I should be doing, is agonizing.” 

Steve leaned onto the balcony’s railing. “I’m not going to apologize for not wanting you to go running off to kill Pierce.” 

Bucky glanced at him, saying nothing as he watched the bigger man. Steve had changed into a simple shirt and a pair of pajama pants. Bucky was amused to see there were little cartoon grenades with huge grins on the pants. Being so close, he could smell the man’s cologne, faint but still rugged. Bucky couldn’t quite identify the scent, but somehow he could picture it mingling with the smell of gunpowder and smoke perfectly. “No,” Bucky said after a moment, “and I wouldn’t want you to.” He was being completely honest, too. 

“I know you have to work through things on your own.” Steve looked down at his hands, brow creasing. “The question I have, the one that’s really been bugging me, is why?” 

Bucky raised his brow. “What, you don’t want me to?” 

“That’s not what I said. I’m not going to be upset that you’re still keeping yourself in check and not going after him. But I don’t get why you’re doing it. You didn’t have to make that promise, and you sure as shit didn’t have to keep it. So why do it at all?” 

Bucky gripped the railing, leaning back to stare up at the sky. “That...is a very good question. And honestly? Not one I have an answer to.” 

“Well, if you don’t, then I sure don’t.” 

Bucky eyed him with a smirk. “Really? Because you seemed to have a few good ideas about what I’m about. At least that’s the way it came off to me earlier.” 

Steve shrugged. “And I don’t think I’m wrong either. I genuinely think you’re trying to do the best you can with the options you’ve been given. And I also think you want something better.” 

Better would be nice, even Bucky could admit that to himself. Better might mean a life where he wasn’t always looking over his shoulder. Better could open up the chances for something other than a blood-soaked future with a more than likely violent end. Better would be living in a house of his own, a dog in the backyard, a lover, maybe even some kids… the dream he’s always wanted for as long as he could understand he had the will  _ to  _ want. 

But could he really do better? 

Bucky shook his head, closing his eyes. “You certainly see something I don’t.” 

“So you keep saying,” Steve said quietly. “But am I really not seeing things right, or are you just afraid to see it in the first place?” 

Fear had never played much in Bucky’s life, his mentor had seen to that. Yet, if he were to really look at things, then yes, he supposed he was a little afraid. Not of dying; death at least would be one answer to his problem. Worse was the fear that he might strive for something else, only to find everything falling apart.  _ That  _ was what terrified him. If he chanced after that dream of his, only to find he physically couldn’t do normal, then what did that say about the kind of person he was? It would be fucking pathetic. 

Bucky bit at the inside of his cheek. “And what if I can’t do better? What if this is all I am and ever will be?” he asked. 

“And what if you refuse to try, and find yourself somewhere down the road wishing you had? Do you really think your life will be better if you end up on the dying end of a contract? What if you find something better, try for something better, and actually get it? What if your life can actually be your own?” Steve insisted. 

Bucky wanted to roll his eyes. Steve sounded so cliche, like it was that easy. Like Bucky could actually do just that. “I wouldn’t even know where to start,” he muttered. 

Steve reached out, his fingers brushing Bucky’s jaw gently. “Buck, you’ve already started. Hell, you’ve set the groundwork for something so much greater than just being a weapon for some assholes with money. Don’t pull away from it just because you don’t know where it could go.” Steve’s fingers were warm on Bucky’s neck as they came to rest and gripped him gently, but his words were warmer, his undeniable belief in Bucky’s worth. Here was a man who had no reason to give a shit about him, yet despite their initial antagonism, he genuinely believed in Bucky’s ability to be more than he was. 

Could he actually do it? Could he leave this life behind and find something else, something  _ more _ ? 

Sucking in a deep breath, both steeling his resolve, and taking in the masculine scent of Steve, Bucky gave into temptation. A faint part of his mind prayed he’d read the signs right, and he leaned in close to Steve. Immediately, Steve’s other hand wrapped around Bucky’s waist as the one around Bucky’s neck tightened. Their lips met, and Bucky felt the deep breath he’d taken pulled from his lungs in surprise. He had never understood what people meant when they’d talked about a spark, or how they felt alive when their partner touched them. Personally, he’d always thought it was an exaggeration to describe the warm but fleeting feeling he was familiar with when he shared his bed with another man. But there was no other description for the jolt that was yanked through his body as Steve’s lips met his. 

His stomach knotted, an oddly pleasurable and weighty feeling as Steve’s fingers tightened against him. Bucky pressed himself against Steve, wondering how the hell just getting closer to someone’s body could feel as good, as right as it did with Steve. 

It could have been mere seconds, or several minutes by the time Bucky finally pulled away from Steve. The larger man was staring down at him with a dazed look in his eyes, his mouth parted, lips reddened. “Oh,” Steve breathed. 

“Yeah,” Bucky murmured. 

“Bucky…” Steve began, looking like he was about to lose the thread of his thoughts almost immediately. 

Bucky spoke quickly, his heart hammering inside his chest like a hummingbird’s wings. “If we went to your room right now, would you regret it?” 

Crystal blue eyes met Bucky’s. A moment passed, but it wasn’t awkward, not with how Steve was holding onto him and looking so closely at him. The world could have ended right then and there and neither of them would have noticed. Bucky watches as Steve swallows roughly, the muscles in his throat moving beautifully. When Steve answered, there was nothing in his voice that hinted at hesitation. “No,” Steve said. “I could never regret it.” 

Bucky couldn’t hide his surprise. Considering what Steve knew about him, about who and what he was, where he’d come from, Bucky had expected a hard no, or at least a speech on how Steve could never mix business with pleasure. Then again, by all technicality, they weren’t in business. Bucky wasn’t contracted to Steve and Steve certainly wasn’t to him either. 

“Just like that?” Bucky asked. 

Steve bent forward once again and kissed Bucky deeply, tongues and teeth sliding against each other. Steve took authority of the kiss fairly quickly, and strangely, Bucky had no problem with it. When Steve broke them apart for air, he rested their foreheads together, their breathes intertwining together. “Just like that,” Steve whispered. 

Before Bucky could summon up little more than a tilt of his lips, he was hoisted up. It wasn’t the first time a man had picked him up, but Bucky gripped hard to Steve with a small grunt of surprise. Steve waited until Bucky, with a scowl on his face, wrapped his legs around the man’s waist. “Stop thinking so much and go with it,” Steve told him. 

Easier said than done, but it was difficult to come up with a proper response as he became aware of Steve’s body pressed against his. Bucky’s earlier assessment of Steve being the human version of a tank came back to him. From the shoulders Bucky had to wrap his arms around, to the feel of his stomach against Bucky’s groin, Steve was built completely solid. 

“Jesus, you could break me in half,” Bucky muttered as he was carried into the apartment. 

“Only if you ask nicely.” 

Bucky raised a brow but said nothing as he let that promise settle into his gut. It wasn’t that he would have been opposed to sleeping with Steve before, but now it was somehow strange. No previous partner had ever known anything but the cover story or half-lies Bucky gave them. Yet here was a man who knew more than any person alive, and if things continued as they were rapidly going, Steve would also get him as vulnerable as he could possibly be. So it was no surprise that Bucky found his normal confidence evaporating quickly. He wasn’t feeling any better by the time they reached the bed and Steve was gently lowering him down onto the sheets. 

Steve towered over him, the sight as arousing as it was intimidating. Bucky could deal with the size of the man, and could even appreciate it, but what unnerved him was how that look in Steve’s eyes had meaning. This man knew him-- the  _ true  _ him-- and was more than happy to be with him. 

Steve knelt on the bed, bending forward to kiss him. “Stop.” 

“What?” Bucky asked breathlessly. 

“Thinking so much.” 

“Hard not to.” 

“You want hard?” Steve gripped Bucky’s wrist and brought his hand to Steve’s groin. Bucky’s breath caught as he felt the stiff length of Steve’s cock straining against his briefs. The pajama pants weren’t doing a great job of concealing it but it wasn’t until Bucky’s hand was on Steve’s cock that he could understand what he would soon be dealing with. Steve was large enough that it was a struggle for Bucky to get his fingers to close around him. The thickness was enough to have Bucky’s head spinning, but the length had him swallowing. “ _ Fuck _ ,” he breathed out shakily. 

With something other than his strange nervousness to focus on, Bucky took hold of Steve’s waistband and pulled his pants down. Steve’s cock sprung free, bobbing heavily as Steve finished the job by shimmying out of them. As the tank of a man grabbed his shirt and pulled it up, Bucky leaned forward, gripped the base of Steve’s cock, and brought the fat head to his lips. 

A soft moan escaped Steve as he dropped his shirt to the floor. Strong hands came up to rest at the back of Bucky’s head, curling into his short hair. Steve’s cock was heavy against Bucky’s tongue, and the taste of him was as strong as it was intoxicating. It seemed that just about everything about this man was trying to pull Bucky apart at the seems, and  _ fuck  _ was it working. 

Bucky slid his mouth forward, taking Steve down into his throat. “Oh s-shit,” Steve stuttered as Bucky did his best to slide as close as possible. Steve, the bastard, was too big for Bucky to take all the way down, but Bucky did his goddamn best, feeling the burn in his throat muscles. To compensate, he brought his hand up and started to stroke the base of Steve’s cock, pumping him like a goddamn champ. He was rewarded with a deep, rumbling growl from Steve, his fingers gripping Bucky’s hair even harder. 

Easing himself back, Bucky bowed forward once again, taking Steve deep. He maintained the rhythm, allowing himself to get lost in the sensation of Steve filling his throat. The taste of him every time Steve leaked, and the noises, some low, some rumbling, that the man made completed the feeling of being totally and completely fucking lost. He could have been there for eternity, and he wouldn’t have fucking cared. 

It was Steve that pulled him off completely, both of their chests heaving. Bucky looked up, heart skipping a beat at the open and honest look of desire in Steve’s dark eyes. “I don’t want to come yet,” Steve said, his voice all gruff and rough and  _ fucking hell _ . With a move that was both strong and gentle, Steve pushed him back into the mattress, his body going easily. Steve wasted no time in taking hold of Bucky’s shirt and pulled it off him. The pants required a little more work and some wiggling on Bucky’s part, but eventually, the two of them were equally naked, and Steve was climbing on top of him. The weight bearing down him was comforting, and Bucky relished in the feel of strong muscles beneath Steve’s burning hot skin. He knew what he wanted, and he could see it in Steve’s eyes, too. 

“Please tell me you’re prepared,” Bucky said breathlessly, humming as Steve’s body vibrated with a low laugh. It turned out, Steve was. Both condoms and lube were close on hand, and Bucky had to experience only a momentary absence from the other man as he went to retrieve them. 

But when Steve returned and Bucky watched as the man started to uncap the lube and pour some into his hand, Bucky felt something ache on the inside of him. He knew what he wanted and he knew damn well what his body was asking for. 

Before he could stop himself, his mouth was moving. “Don’t,” he said as he Steve began to slick up his fingers. 

Steve raised a brow. “You’re one of those?” 

No, he actually wasn’t, but he couldn’t bring himself to give the full reason. He was only just starting to accept that he wanted Steve and that just kissing him was better than a good half of the sex that he’d had before. But damn it, he couldn’t admit that he wanted-- no,  _ needed  _ to have Steve inside of him. Some deep, once quiet part of him cried out for it, and if he had to endure a little discomfort to just have it happen, he could live with that. 

Steve’s eyes were locked on his face, and Bucky’s stomach clenched. For one fearful moment, he thought he must have given himself away. That something on his face had told Steve exactly what Bucky had been trying to keep hidden away. 

Relief pooled in his gut when Steve grabbed the condom, saying nothing as he prepared himself. Either the man had seen nothing, or had kept his observation to himself. Somehow, Bucky could breathe just a bit easier. 

When Steve grabbed his legs, Bucky thought he was about to be flipped over. Instead, Steve drew him closer, placing himself right between Bucky’s legs in the most intimate way possible. Steve bent forward, kissing him gently as he placed his cock at Bucky’s entrance. “You have the most beautiful eyes,” Steve whispered just loud enough for him to hear. There was no missing the awestruck look on his handsome face. “I want to see your face the whole time.” 

He-- Steve just-- Bucky was starting to think that this was a dream. Somehow, he’d fallen asleep without knowing it, or maybe he’d just been caught up in la-la land ever since Steve knocked him out. Maybe he’d been drugged. Maybe he was being experimented on with some new training tactic that Red Room was trying out. Maybe Widow had turned him in… 

But no, there was no way that his brain -- unconscious or not-- would be able to dream up of Steve’s face so open like that. This was  _ real _ . He knew it without a doubt. 

Bucky could only stare as the words sank in. He was so caught up in it all that he almost didn’t notice the pressure building as Steve pushed forward. The compliment over his eyes was nothing compared to Steve’s final words. And just like a switch, Bucky’s newfound confidence dwindled into goddamn dust as he wracked his brain for the right thing to say in return. What could he possibly say that would be good enough for Steve?

He was spared as he felt himself open. Never once looking away from each other, Steve began to push his cock inside of him. A choked gasp left his lips as his body burned at the stretch. He willed himself to relax, forcing his muscles to turn to mush. When the pain flared and became almost too much to handle, he almost wished that he had let Steve work him open. But he knew he would have never lasted a minute and he would be goddamned if he was going to come without having Steve’s cock inside of him. 

Steve pushed in another inch and Bucky’s mouth parted as his breath got caught in his lungs. Steve bent down once more, licking deep into Bucky’s mouth. Pleasure swept through him as Steve rocked gently into him. The pain was still there as he was stretched open further than normal, but he forced himself to focus on how Steve’s tongue danced over his instead. Bucky wrapped his arms around the man’s strong shoulders, giving a low moan as he felt more inches push inside of him. When Steve was finally flush against him, they both stilled as Bucky grew accustomed to the length inside of him. It took a few minutes until Bucky nodded his chin for Steve to continue. 

Steve started with slow, testing thrusts at first, but as he continued on, they got stronger, more powerful. Steve never strayed too far from Bucky as he thrusted into him, occasionally interrupting his thrusts with another deep, electric kiss. Bucky’s swirling mind cast aside all thoughts as Steve filled him time and time again. His body burned, heart thudding hard, and the moans of pleasure began to spill out of him. And through it all, Steve held him close, kissing his neck, nibbling on his jaw. 

Never-- never had Bucky known sex like this. There had been rough partners, kinky partners, passionate partners, and more than a few lackluster partners. Yet not one of them had held Bucky with such passion, yet so gently at the same time. Not one of them had ever looked at Bucky with such warmth and desire all bundled into one. And how could they if he never allowed them to get that close? Steve though… Steve was special. 

“ _ Steve _ ,” Bucky gasped out, feeling his stomach tightening. Without a word, Steve reached between them, grabbing hold of Bucky’s cock, and stroking it in time with his thrusts. It was all too much. The thickness that rocked inside of him, Steve’s warmth surrounding him entirely, the way Steve clutched at him, and licked at his skin. It took only seconds before Bucky cried out, coating Steve’s hand and stomach as he came. Steve gave a low grunt, shoving himself deep and claiming Bucky’s mouth once more. 

Steve moaned into Bucky’s mouth, his cock jerking inside of Bucky as his massive body stilled. He felt the warmth shoot off inside of him and when Steve’s shaking arms collapsed, causing Steve to fall onto him, Bucky was quick to embrace him. His hands framed Steve’s face, legs tight around the man’s waist. It was certainly a sight to see those baby blues so frazzled and unfocused, such a juxtapose of how Steve was normally so sharp. 

When it was over, the both of them left breathless, their chests heaved against one another. Steve slid out of him gently, retrieving a towel from the floor to clean them both up. Bucky managed to murmur a quiet thanks as he laid on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. His heart continued to race as he tried to make sense of what had just happened, at how wonderful the whole thing had been. He had no idea how long he laid there, only coming out of his stupor when Steve appeared at his side. Bucky stared up at him, wondering what he could possibly say to even start to encompass what he had just experienced. 

Steve smiled at him, wrapped an arm around Bucky’s waist and pulled him close. Once more, Bucky found himself surrounded by Steve’s body, his warmth. It was as enticing as it had been during foreplay, but without the demands of lust accompanying it. It was… really nice. Perfect, even. Even though it was a shock, Bucky found himself giving into some strange call from Steve’s presence, his body relaxing as Steve held him close. He tried not to think too much when Steve pulled his arm to drape it across his stomach, making Bucky’s cheek press into the hard muscles of Steve’s chest. Steve did the same with Bucky’s leg, hiking it over his thigh and hooking his own foot around Bucky’s calf. “That was...” Bucky started to say but his voice died as he felt Steve nuzzle the top of his head. 

“Yeah, it was,” Steve said back. 

Bucky wanted to quip back that Steve couldn’t possibly know what Bucky was going to say, but he found that he didn’t truly want to. No, what he wanted to do was sink into the warmth that Steve’s body gave him. He felt his eyelids start to flutter, felt Steve’s arms tighten around him, and for once, he let himself fall asleep in someone’s embrace. 

* * *

Steve

* * *

By the time he woke, the sun was already above the horizon and streaming through the curtains. Steve couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so late. Yet, Bucky was still asleep beside him. 

Bucky was on his side, curled nicely under Steve’s arm. Sentimentality rose in Steve as he watched Bucky’s chest rise and fall. Laying like this, it was hard to picture Bucky as the kind of person who was capable of killing someone with a spoon. Bucky was… small. Even compared to regular civilian standards, Bucky shouldn’t be able to pose such a threat that he did. Looking at him, no one would have ever suspected that this man was composed of so much skill, so much lethalness. But tucked beneath Steve’s arm, pushed against Steve’s body, Bucky looked like he belonged there. And if the peacefulness on Bucky’s face as he slept was any indication, maybe Steve wasn’t completely crazy for thinking it. 

The night’s events drifted back to him as he lay there, ignoring the growing pressure of his bladder. He didn’t want to wake Bucky up and disturb what might be the first bit of real rest he’d had in ages. Steve wanted to remember the uncertainty in Bucky’s eyes from the night before, and how beautifully it had changed into giving himself over to the moment. He hadn’t chosen to sleep with Bucky just because it might give him the chance to show the other man something better, maybe even something good. He truly had wanted to be with the man. Yet maybe, just maybe, Steve had the chance to show Bucky something human, something wonderfully warm and happy. 

He was almost sure Bucky had never known human to human intimacy. From the way Bucky leaned into Steve’s touch even if he hadn’t realized it, or how the look in his eyes went from skittish to eager then skittish again at Steve’s every move. Bucky may have had sex in the past, but sex wasn’t always intimate. What they had done hours ago had certainly been that; Steve had felt the draw, the spark, the storm between them as he’d slid into Bucky and felt his body light up with pleasure and need.

“Quit thinking so loudly,” Bucky murmured suddenly. 

Steve chuckled, drawing his arm tighter around Bucky. “Didn’t think you were awake.” 

“Been awake long enough to know you were watching me,” Bucky said. His voice was quiet and soft, a bit rough with sleep, and Steve practically melted hearing it. 

“I love how you can manage to take something that’s supposed to be romantic and cute and make it sound creepy,” Steve grumbled. 

Bucky frowned. “Cute? You were watching me to be cute?” 

Steve chuckled, kissing the side of Bucky’s neck. “No, I was watching you because you’re cute when you’re asleep.” 

“Oh.” 

And there was the uncertainty and the wariness once again. Steve supposed that Bucky just wasn’t used to someone who knew him and liked him at the same time. Sure, the man might have a body count larger than Steve’s, but he sure as hell didn’t know what to do when all the masks and veils were brought down. It was endearing, watching the big bad assassin find himself unsure of what to say or do next. 

“How are you feeling?” Steve asked. 

Bucky rolled over, looking up at Steve with his striking eyes. “I want to say good.” 

“Want to say?” 

“Well, I am good, great even. But I also don’t know how I feel other than that. I don’t do confusion very well.” 

“Confused because it was good?” 

Bucky smiled shyly up at him, and Steve definitely wasn’t making up the blush that rose on his cheeks.  _ God _ , this man was beautiful. “It was good, Steve.  _ Very  _ good. And  _ I  _ should be good. But I’ve never had anything so...intense before.” 

Steve chuckled. “I’ve only had it a couple of times before. You never quite get used to it, I don’t think you’re supposed to.” 

Bucky stared up at him curiously. “What about last night? Was it like that for you too?” 

Steve would have thought it had been obvious, but then again, he had to keep in mind that Bucky was in uncharted territory. Instead of answering with words, Steve kissed Bucky once again. And there was the stiffening of surprise from Bucky, followed by the slow relaxation as he gave in to the sensation. Warmth pooled in Steve’s gut as Bucky’s lips parted, letting Steve’s mouth take his, their tongues dancing gently against one another. 

“Last night, and now as well, it seems,” Steve murmured against his lips. 

“I guess this is one of those things that normal people get to have in their lives, huh?” Bucky whispered. 

“Sometimes, and sometimes they don’t. But I also know that when you do find it, you should at least try to hang onto it.” 

“Is that what you’re doing?” 

“I want to.” 

Bucky blinked at that. “What, with me?” 

Steve smiled gently. He knew that one wrong word or move could have Bucky fleeing. “If you’re willing to find a better life for yourself, to make a better one, I wouldn’t mind being a part of that.” 

“Even with…” 

Steve sighed. “Look, I meant everything I said last night, and I mean what I’m saying now. I really do believe you have a way out, and that we can find a way to deal with Pierce without having to bloody your hands even more.” 

“So… not killing him would be my symbolic step in a new direction. But killing him…” Bucky said, trailing off. 

“Would be continuing on the same path you aren’t even sure you want to be on anymore,” Steve finished for him. 

“Hm, yeah, I guess you have a point there.” 

Steve couldn’t make that choice for him, though. The best he could do would be to give Bucky the best advice, and hope he came out the other side okay. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be guarding the very man you’re defending right now?” Bucky asked. 

Steve scowled. “I’m not defending him, I’m trying to help you. And no, today is a late shift for me. So I still have a while before I have to face him again.” 

Bucky snorted, sliding gently away from Steve to leave the bed. “I imagine things are rather...awkward for you right now.” 

Steve watched as Bucky stretched, not bothering to hide his interest. “Yeah, I was for sure that I was busted after his partner saw me in his office.” 

Bucky glanced at him, raising a brow. “His partner saw you downloading files?” 

“No, he just saw me sitting at the desk. I had an excuse I made up, but he didn’t seem to buy it. I was sure he would say something to Pierce, but nothing was said after I met up with him. I really don’t look forward to faking my whole job again, knowing what he’s doing.” 

“Hm, I don’t like that.” 

“Yeah, neither do I, that’s what I just said.” 

Bucky shook his head. “No, his partner walking in on you is what’s bugging me.” 

“I guess the guy didn’t think it was important, and I was just being paranoid,” Steve shrugged. 

Bucky snorted. “When you’re dealing with people like Pierce, it’s better to be paranoid than foolish.” 

“So, what would you like me to do?” 

Bucky looked thoughtful. “It’s more...what you would want  _ me  _ to do.” 

Steve frowned. “I’d rather you didn’t do too much at the moment.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes, smiling gently. “I didn’t mean going after Pierce. I just mean, if we’re going to work together on this more, then we should probably just combine our resources. I go back to my motel, collect my things, and bring it all back here. That way, everything, including us, is in one place, and we can have one another’s backs.” 

Steve sat up. “You want to stay here, with me?” 

Bucky blinked. “It would make the most sense, and probably keep us the safest.” 

“That’s it?” Steve asked. 

Once again, color rose to Bucky’s cheeks. “If you’re trying to get me to say that I want to stay here specifically with you because of you then… fine, it’s working. Yes, I want to spend more time with you.” 

Steve grinned, reaching out and taking hold of the man. Bucky’s eyes widened as Steve yanked him toward his chest, kissing Bucky eagerly. This time, there was no tensing as Bucky melted into the kiss. His fingers stroked through Steve’s messy hair, skimming through his beard before running down the lines of Steve’s back hungrily. “Let’s say you and I spend a little more time together, and then we can both go get your stuff,” Steve offered, hand tracing around to cup and squeeze Bucky’s bare ass. 

Bucky’s bottom lip caught between his teeth. “I distinctly remember you telling me that you wouldn’t break me in half unless I asked nicely.” 

Steve’s cock stirred. “I did.” 

“I would like to officially and nicely ask now.” 

Steve gave a low chuckle, pulling Bucky onto the bed completely. “That can certainly be arranged.”

***

Watching Bucky shift and wiggle in the passenger seat left a permanent smirk on Steve’s face. He did try to avoid the worst of the potholes and bumps in the road, but it didn’t seem to be helping very much. For most of the ride, Bucky continued squirming, eventually leaning heavily against the door. When Bucky glanced over and caught sight of his smirk. “What are you looking so smug about?” 

“Looks like someone got more than they bargained for,” Steve said. 

Bucky grinned at him and Steve was already prepared for the sass that he knew was coming. “Oh, please,” Bucky said, reaching over and placing his hand on the back of Steve’s neck, squeezing gently. “I’ve had harder.” 

“Not sure if I should be offended or relieved,” Steve said as he turned the corner. 

Bucky released him and turned to stare out the window. There was a smile on his face. “I said harder, not better.” 

“Then consider me relieved and pleased.” 

Bucky was still smiling as he motioned to a building. “There. Room 122.” 

Steve pulled into the parking lot, snorting softly as Bucky winced as the car bumped once more. Bucky gave him a dirty look but said nothing as they pulled into the spot in front of the room. It wasn’t the greatest part of town or the nicest of motels. It was split between several buildings, four rooms to each building, with scraggly grass filled alleys separating them. Steve was pretty sure between the two of them, they would be alright, but he would still keep an eye out for potential trouble. 

“I should only be a few minutes,” Bucky told him as he opened the door. 

“You don’t want me to come in?” Steve asked. 

Bucky shrugged. “No real point. I have to make a call anyway.” 

“A call?” 

Bucky eyed him. “Don’t sound so suspicious, I’m calling my handler.” 

“You have a handler?” Steve asked in surprise. 

Again, Bucky shrugged. “It’s how I get my contracts and my information. I need to put her off for a few more days while you and I figure things out.” 

“Is that your way of telling me that you’re considering not killing him?” 

Bucky smiled. “It means I’m seriously considering it. But it also means I need to make sure she’s not any more suspicious than she already is. She’s already wondering what’s been taking me so long as it is. And the last thing either of us will want is if the Red Room sends more operatives.” 

Yeah, Bucky was certainly right about that. He may not know too much about the people Bucky worked for, but he seriously doubted that all of them had their heads on straight with some form of a moral code. It had been a struggle to fight Bucky one on one, and that was only because Bucky hadn’t been actively trying to kill him. He knew that if Bucky wanted to, he probably could, and if Bucky’s skill set was enough for Steve to go off of, a whole group of Red Room operatives wasn’t going to be something Steve could handle. They’d probably off him before he even caught wind they were there. 

Steve nodded. “Alright, go make your call. I’ll sit out here like a good little chauffeur,” he teased. 

Bucky rolled his eyes and closed the door behind him. Steve watched him jog to the door, unlock it, and step inside. Once he was in the room, Steve couldn’t see anything but the curtained windows. He supposed anyone else might be worried about what Bucky was up to, but Steve had already decided that he was going to trust Bucky completely. Maybe it was foolish, but he would rather risk being right. There was a great deal of hope for Bucky, whether the man wanted to admit it or not. Steve had seen hints in the little things, how shy Bucky was when something genuinely nice was said to him, his willingness to explore another option when it came to Pierce. Maybe Bucky had believed himself too far gone to be found again, but Steve was pretty sure that some of the happier things from his childhood had left a bigger impact than Bucky had thought. Maybe despite all of the trauma that Bucky had been through, that little boy he used to be was someone who wanted to really experience life and be happy. And maybe it was that little boy that had left a light inside of Bucky’s heart that Steve would be able to help grow. 

Steve sat in the driver’s seat, grinning to himself like an idiot as he hoped they were on the right track together. His smile died when he caught movement in the rearview mirror. A kid, a teenager to be more exact, was perched beside a white van parked on the other side of the parking lot. The kid kept looking around nervously, then waving his arms for a moment toward Steve. Unease trickled through Steve’s gut. He glanced around the parking lot and didn’t see anyone else around, waiting in ambush. 

That didn’t mean there weren’t other people. 

Steeling himself, he pushed open the driver’s door and strode across the parking lot. Steve made sure not to walk between the van and the wall it was parked beside. “You need something?” Steve asked. 

The kid’s eyes darted around. “You have to get out of here, fast. I’m not kidding.” 

Steve held up his hand. “Hold on, slow down. What’s your name?” 

“Peter. You have to get out of here, fast. Get him out of there.” 

“Bucky?” Steve asked. 

“There were guys in there earlier, a couple of them. They looked like they meant business.” 

Steve’s heart dropped. “What were they doing?” 

Peter shook his head. “I don’t know. They just went in, were in there for a little bit, and came back out. Dunno where they went after that.” 

_ Shit _ . Steve jerked his head. “Get out of here. I think things are about to get ugly.” The teen didn’t have to be told twice, and he quickly scurried away, hopping over the wall and disappearing out of sight. Steve glanced around once more, looking for someone, anyone approaching as he hurried back to the car. His eyes locked on the door that separated him from Bucky and the panic began to trickle down his spine. 

He felt the sudden heat before the explosion sounded off less than a second later. Steve’s arms came up to shield his head just as the front windows and door exploded outward. He had just enough time to register what happened when the force of the explosion hit him, slamming him into his car. Air rushed from his lungs, and pain roared through him. He didn’t remember hitting the ground but he found himself staring at the dirty asphalt all the same. Steve managed to pick his head up, staring at the room engulfed in flames. “Bucky,” he croaked, not believing what he was seeing. 

He felt the approach of something through the vibration on the asphalt. A large vehicle pulled up a few feet away from him. A door opened and booted feet landed on the parking lot. Steve tried to look up into the face of the man looking down at him, but he couldn’t understand what they were saying. Distantly, he found himself wishing he’d learned how to read lips as the man spoke over his shoulder. He didn’t know who the man was, but he had a good idea who the man worked for. They were here to kill him, just as they had killed Bucky. 

Before Steve could do anything, the man brought his booted foot up and down onto Steve’s face, blacking out any further thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me!


	8. Chapter 8

Bucky

* * *

His mouth opened as he desperately sucked in a breath. It took a few tries, but eventually, the air was slamming back into him, getting shoved into his lungs and making him gasp in relief. His hands clutched at the solid ground beneath him and his head hurt enough for him to know that he must have hit it on his way down. 

Tentatively, he reached up and pressed against his skull. When he pulled his hand back, he closed his eyes in relief when he found that there was no blood. He was on his back, and blinking a few times, Bucky stared up at the blue sky overhead, marred only by the thick cloud of black smoke billowing out of the building in front of him. 

It took a few minutes but eventually the sound reached his ears. It was muted as though he had his head underwater and there was a loud ringing in his ears, too, like there was a siren blaring nearby that only he could hear. 

The longer he laid there, little by little his mind began to snap back into place, processing everything that had just happened. His body was one giant clusterfuck of ache, and he could feel burning lines against his shoulder, hands, and one cheek. Bucky managed to pick his head up off the floor and give himself a quick inspection, making sure everything was intact, and that he wasn’t on goddamn fire. 

It was a bit of a relief to realize that the burning sensation came from the cuts on his hands, which was probably the same explanation for his shoulder and cheek. 

Bucky forced himself upright, wincing as his back protested the movement. He was several yards from the building he’d been standing in only moments before. He shook his head, trying to remember what happened. He’d been talking to Widow, explaining to her that he finally had a way of dealing with his little complications. Bucky had made sure to phrase it as a simple courtesy call, so she wouldn’t have to worry. The last thing he remembered, he stepped into the bathroom, looking at the dirty, frosted window, and wondering if she was even buying his excuse. 

An explosion, that had to be it. 

It was the only thing that could have happened so quickly that he wouldn’t remember it. And something that could also cause so much destruction. The room that he had been in was engulfed in flames and it was rapidly spreading to the rest of the building. The bathroom window was completely blown out, and the glass littered the ground all the way up to where Bucky had landed. 

He looked down, huffing as he realized he was sitting on a patch of grass and weeds behind the building. If he’d landed a foot further away or shorter, he would have slammed into the concrete. Instead, he was on what probably should have been a maintained grass median on the street directly behind the motel. 

_ Lucky him _ . 

Just as lucky was the fact that he’d been in the bathroom, in front of the window when the explosion happened. Otherwise, he would have either been caught in the blast directly, or thrown into a solid wall with the same force that had jettisoned him several yards. Someone had clearly been looking out for him today. Still, he looked down at himself, wondering how many years he had just shaved off his life. 

But then he remembered. 

He hadn’t been alone. 

His head jerked up, his mouth falling open. Steve had been parked out front. 

“No,” he breathed, pushing himself to his feet unsteadily. He limped around the other side of the building as quickly as his wobbly legs would take him. He had to grip onto the building once he lost his footing, but nothing would keep him from getting there. 

Once he rounded the corner, his stomach dropped. His chest squeezed as he stared at Steve’s car. It was completely engulfed in flames. The windows were all blown out and the metal had already turned black, melting right before Bucky’s very eyes. The front end had been crumpled from the force of the blast, and just looking at the twisted metal, Bucky knew that anyone in the vehicle at the time of the detonation wouldn’t have had the chance to escape. 

“Steve…” he whispered, limping forward as fast as his legs could take him. He felt a noise tear out of him as he rounded the vehicle, staring into the flames, not caring that it was unbearably hot being so close. He got as close to the car that he could until the blaze hissed at his skin. There was nothing he could do to save the man, he knew that. Even if the explosion hadn’t killed Steve outright, the car was on fire. Steve was already gone. 

Bucky clutched his arms around his stomach, bowing forward. He felt as if he was going to throw up. 

Steve had been the only person who had ever bothered to care about him since Bucky was a child. He had been a good man, trying to do the right thing, and he hadn’t deserved such a horrible death. Steve had deserved a life, to grow old and have friends and a family. 

Bucky’s eyes stung as he stared at the fire, wondering what would even be left to give the man a proper burial. Who would the authorities call? Sam? Bucky would have no choice but to be long gone. Staying for a funeral, no matter how important the person was, wasn’t something that Bucky could risk. 

Especially given that Bucky was the cause of Steve’s death. This was  _ his  _ fault. He had gotten Steve involved. He had pulled Steve in. And now--

A hand closed around his arm, and in a flash Bucky was reaching into his waistband and pulling out his pistol, aiming it wildly. His finger was on the trigger, ready to release his anger and grief and everything that was bubbling beneath his surface, but instead, his arm collided with a body and the force sent him tumbling to the ground, his gun clattering against the cement. 

Above him, staring with terrified eyes, was the kid who had tried to mug him the first night he’d come to the city. “Peter?” he asked, remembering the kid’s name instantly. Peter nodded, his mouth working, but not loud enough to get past the ringing in Bucky’s ears. Bucky pointed to his ears. “I can’t understand you. Get out of here before someone else shows up to finish the job.” 

Peter pointed frantically at the car, and then across the parking lot. Bucky followed his gesture, shaking his head. “Just go, Peter. This isn’t safe. I’m not safe…” 

With a look of growing frustration, Peter reached into his pocket and pulled out a cellphone. Bucky watched him, just wishing the kid would take the hint and go away. He knew that whoever had killed Steve had also been trying to kill him, too. Apparently, his target had been more aware of his and Steve’s partnership than he let on. They had planted a bomb, and instead of getting the assassin, they got the protector instead. 

Fate was never a kind mistress. 

Peter shoved his phone into Bucky’s face. 

_ They took your friend. Hit him and drove away.  _

Bucky looked up, not ready to believe. The hope that bubbled up was something he had never experienced, and if he would have been standing up, his knees would have given out. “He’s... alive?” 

Peter nodded fervently. Staring at the fire once more, Bucky felt his pain recede. His body still ached, and guilt gnawed at the edges of his thoughts but none of that mattered now that he knew Steve was alive. 

But then the realization dawned on him all at once. If Steve had survived the blast only to be taken by someone, there was a chance that whoever they were, the odds of them not hurting Steve was slim to none. Which meant that he needed to get his shit together and start thinking fast because he knew that Steve wouldn’t have long. He was a touch man, but he was merely a man all the same. Humans always bled and broke too easily. 

Bucky gathered himself quickly and held out his hand. “Help me up. I’m gonna need your help.” 

***

A couple of hours and a shit load of pain killers later, Bucky was a man lost in action. None of his cuts had been deep and bandages had been wrapped around all the areas where he had been bleeding. The pills Peter had managed to get from who-knew-where had been enough to take the worst of the pain away but without dulling Bucky’s senses too much. There was still a high pitched ringing in his ears, but he could deal with that. 

“So what’re you gonna do?” Peter asked, shifting nervously in his seat across from Bucky. 

He snorted, looking up from the laptop in front of him. “I’m going to get my friend back.” 

“How you gonna do that?” 

Just then his laptop chimed, showing that the program he’d been downloading was finished. He let out a slow breath. 

The laptop was another little gift from Peter. Bucky was pretty sure the thing belonged to the kid’s aunt and had certainly seen better days. Still, it managed to get Wi-Fi from the diner they chose for its hotspot, and it worked, slowly but surely. 

“It’s best that you don’t ask,” he answered after a beat. 

“That bad, huh?” 

“I’m not a very good person. And the people who took my friend are worse.” 

Peter shifted uncomfortably in the wanna-be leather stall. “You seem like a good guy to me…” 

He could argue, maybe even start listing off all the fucked-up shit he’d been dealt with in the past and then all the other fucked up shit he’d willingly done in the past few years. He tried to grin but it fell flat. “I… appreciate it, but you don’t know me.” 

“I know you helped me.” 

“Uh-huh. How bad did your aunt get you?” 

Peter ducked his head. “Pretty bad, but you were right. I shouldn’t have been doing all that. I don’t wanna be that person.” 

“Speaking from personal experience, no, you don’t want to be that sort of person. Keep your nose clean, and do the right thing,” Bucky said as he typed the information into the program. Strangely, as soon as the words left his mouth he envisioned Steve right beside him, nodding all proud. If Steve’s life wasn’t in danger in that very moment, Bucky might have actually smiled at the thought. 

Peter leaned over, trying to see the screen. “So how are you going to find him?”

“I have my ways.”

After getting his ass handed to him and then captured by Steve, and then everything that followed, Bucky had forgotten all about the tracker he’d put on Steve’s phone. It was probably a good thing he’d forgotten, otherwise he would have warned Steve about it and removed it because they were both just too paranoid for shit like that. Now it was probably Bucky’s only chance to find the man before it was too late. 

“Look, the less you know, the better okay?” he told Peter as the program searched for the signal. “I probably shouldn’t even be involving you this much but right now, I’m desperate and time is too important to waste.”

“Wish I could’ve done more. I should’ve just...warned you when I saw you pull up. But I was scared they were still around,” Peter muttered, staring at his lap. 

Bucky looked up. There’s no denying that if Peter would have stopped them, they would have noped it right the fuck out of that parking lot and  _ everything  _ would have been different. Steve would actually be right beside him and not some figment of his imagination. They could have handled this problem together, gone after the fuckers as a team rather than one getting captured and the other scrambling to beat the clock. 

But he couldn’t blame Peter. 

Bucky reached across the table and squeezed Peter’s shoulder. “You did more than you needed to. This wasn’t your business and you still tried to help. You did a lot, and now, I can go help him.” 

“You’ve found him?” Peter asked, hopeful and eyes wide. 

Bucky looked up the address given by the program and nodded. “I have. And now, I’m going to go get him.” Well, after a supply run anyway. If Steve was still alive, he suspected that Pierce was keeping him alive for a reason. A signal only told him where Steve was, not if the man was actually alive and well. 

Bucky closed and uninstalled the program, removing all traces, before he slid the laptop back to the kid. “I owe you one, y’know that, right? You’ve helped me more than you know.” 

“After everything you did for me, just consider us even. I just hope it’s enough for your friend,” Peter said, tucking the computer under his arm.

_ Me too _ , Bucky could only think as he stood up. “Take care of yourself, Peter… and don’t stop looking for the good in people. It can surprise you how often you’re right.” He left the teenager at the table and without another word, he walked out of the diner. Getting money quickly wouldn’t be a problem, though arming himself might be difficult. Truth was, he might just have to get Steve with little more than stray equipment and a knife. He had faced pretty difficult odds before, but this time there was a lot more that he could lose. This was more than just his life on the line and a paycheck at stake. 

Bucky had promised Steve he wouldn’t go after Pierce, but if Steve was hurt, or worse, Bucky would burn that promise without so much as flinching. 

God have mercy on Alexander Pierce if he had hurt Steve because Bucky would have none. 

* * *

Steve

* * *

Steve awoke with a groan escaping his throat and finding himself in darkness. It took a while but slowly, the room came into focus, and he could see light leaking from beneath a door in front of him. 

Little by little, his eyes adjusted. He could make out the cement stone floor beneath him, the door in front of him, another to his left, and a clutter of broken, decaying furniture around the room he was in. The smell of damp filled his nostrils, and he was pretty sure there was a dead animal rotting away somewhere in the dark. He tried to stand but a jerk at his wrists stopped him short. 

Glancing over his shoulder, he realized he was handcuffed to a steel pole that looked like an old pipe. He looked up, making out the crumbling ceiling overhead, seeing no way for him to pull the cuffs up and off. For the moment, he was stuck. 

He rolled his neck, feeling the tension build up in his shoulders. He remembered the explosion and being knocked on his ass, then that asshold who had showed up and kicked him while he was down. But above it all, his chest ached at his loss. “Bucky,” he whispered softly. 

Christ, they should have known they weren’t safe. They should have known that someone as nasty as Pierce would have probably been smart enough to figure them out. And now Bucky was dead because Steve hadn’t been thinking straight. This was his fault. He’d let his guard down…

The door opened with a squeal of rusty hinges. Light poured in, forcing Steve to squint against the glare. A figure stepped into the room, blocking out the light for a moment. “About time you woke up,” Pierce’s familiar voice said. 

Steve said nothing, wondering how long he must have been out for Pierce to think it worth commenting on. He couldn’t make out the man’s face, but he caught sight of expensive shoes and could smell the man’s cologne as he got closer. There was no mistaking that voice though, even if it did sound coarser and meaner than when Steve last heard it. 

“Fuck you,” Steve grunted.

Pierce gave him an infuriating smile. “I hate to break it to you, young man, but you aren’t exactly in any position to be rude.” 

Steve scoffed, glaring where the man was standing. “My apologies to the asshole who killed someone and then kidnapped me.” 

“Someone?” Pierce raised a brow. “Not secret lover?” 

Steve felt something cold trickle down his spine. How could Pierce know what Bucky meant to him? How could he have ever found out about him? 

At the look on Steve’s face, Pierce chuckled. “Oh, grow up, Steven. That assassin was here for me, and he’s dead rather than here with you because I know full well he wouldn’t tell me anything who hired him, even if he did know. I’m not going to feel any guilt over killing someone who was here to kill me. In fact, someone who’s tried to kill me more than once already.” 

Steve watched Pierce’s movements, tracking them. “I doubt you’ve felt something as human as guilt in quite some time.” 

“Hmm, that would be a rather hindering emotion for this line of work, wouldn’t it? As much as it kills me to live up to your horrible estimation of my character, you are correct, I haven’t felt guilty in years. Hard to when you’ve got the kind of money I have.” 

Steve sneered. “Money, that’s all people are to you. Just bags of money, walking around and begging to be sold off for sex or slavery.” 

Pierce shrugged. “If it makes you feel any better, I take no real pleasure in it. In fact, I don’t know most of the time what my buyers do with their purchases.” 

“Yeah, thanks, that makes me feel a lot better.”

“Sarcasm? Well, I suppose I can add that to your file.” Steve froze. His file? Again, Pierce chuckled. “What, did you think I had you here because I wanted to question you? Please. If I thought you were off telling someone something you shouldn’t have, I would have grabbed you a while ago.” 

“You’re selling me,” Steve ground out. 

“Well, you are an impressive specimen. With all your training, looks, and hell, state secrets knocking around in that rather thick skull of yours? Do you have any idea how much you would be worth to the right buyer?” 

There was a twisted irony to being snatched off the street and put up to the highest buyer. He’d been trying to find a way to stop the man without any further bloodshed, and now Bucky was dead, and Steve was going to be another victim. He’d saved one life only to doom two others. 

Steve swallowed but his throat was too dry. “I won’t disappear as easily as the others,” Steve told him. 

“No? You’d be amazed how easy it is to make people disappear. You might not be some runaway or vagrant, but you can disappear just as easily as anyone else. What are you, some independent contractor who does a dangerous job? I assure you, I’ll be sufficiently worried when the cops come looking for you after you go missing. Ane then money will change hands, and the cops will stop looking. You and your… little friend came after the wrong person, and it’s going to cost you,” Pierce promised. 

“I should have let him kill you,” Steve growled. 

Pierce laughed, his face illuminated in the flick of a lighter. The flame touched the end of a thick cigar in his hand, igniting the tip. “Probably. Might have saved you a lot of trouble, and might have saved his life. Better yet, maybe I should have kept him alive, too. He’d have been easily tripled, probably even quadrupled your worth. Could you imagine the price if I’d have listed you both as a set?” Pierce gave out a low whistle, shaking his head. He took a puff of his cigar, blowing it out all slowly. “You see, when I brought you on, I had to be sure you were legitimate. I’ve had you watched for quite a while now. I almost pulled my boys off you, and then they reported something interesting, a little sneak breaking into your house. And then, conspiring with him? Not very professional of you, to conspire with the enemy. But you did a bit more than that, huh? Can’t blame you. He had an incredibly…  _ desirable  _ look about him.” 

Steve tugged on the cuffs, testing the chain. It wasn’t the thickest he’d encountered but it wasn’t cheap either. He’d gotten out of worse before. “I wish he’d got to me sooner. Then we could have dealt with you a lot earlier.” 

Pierce tsked at him, shaking his head in disappointment. “Anything to point the blame away from yourself, huh? You slept with the enemy, Steven. I don’t know what they taught you in the Army, but that goes against just about every rule there is. You don’t seem to be the kind of guy to bend over, so tell me, was his body as delectable as it looked?” 

Steve’s jaw tightened. “Don’t you dare talk about him. You don’t get to talk about him, or about me. You’re disgusting.” 

“Disgustingly rich maybe,” Pierce corrected him. “Well, I suppose my hands aren’t terribly clean, but that’s neither here nor there, now is it?” 

A soft sound penetrated through the hard exhale from Pierce as he blew out a huge cloud of smoke. Steve kept his eyes on Pierce, glaring as he watched a shadow at the end of the hallway behind the man shift violently. Steve couldn’t see what it was, and Pierce didn’t seem to notice. “I honestly had hoped to catch you when you were alone with me. It would have been far nicer to keep you and your assassin and show you off in my home, but here we are,” Pierce said with a curled lip. 

“Where is here, anyway?” he asked. 

Pierce stood up, pushing his coat aside to tuck his hand into his pocket. “Oh, an old hotel. For some reason, the owners thought a hunting lodge theme would be good. Apparently, city dwellers don’t want that if they’re not in the great outdoors, and rural visitors aren’t fooled, who would have thought?” 

Steve eyed the shadows of Pierce’s coat, looking for a holster. “One of your train stations.” 

Pierce snorted. “Not one of my better ones, that’s for sure. It works when I need something shoved out of sight quickly, or a particularly large shipment.” 

“Shipment,” Steve repeated with a sneer. “They’re people.” 

“And people are a commodity, have been since the dawn of mankind. Your moralizing isn’t going to change that, and it won’t make me any less successful. There’s a market to take advantage of, Steven, and I’m just one more businessman,” Pierce said with another heavy puff. A new shadow drew down the hallway, but Pierce’s eyes were locked on Steve’s face. Steve’s heart began to race as the figure drew closer. He couldn’t see the face, but there was no denying that he recognized the grace of the man’s movements. “And you’re just one more piece of meat soon for market,” Pierce added. 

Bucky’s shadow casted into the room as he stepped inside. “So not going to fucking happen, Pierce.” 

Pierce spun around to face Bucky, and Steve acted. With a grunt, he lashed his foot out and caught Pierce in the back of the leg. The man fell backward with a cry, arms flailing, and cigar flying back into the dark of the room. Steve yanked at the handcuffs, ripping the chain apart with a grunt but Bucky was already advancing quickly on Pierce. Bucky’s hand was wrapped around a gun, and he had it held out before him, aimed down at the stunned older man cowering before him. Steve grabbed it, pulling the aim away and forcing Bucky to look at him. 

“Don’t, Steve,” Bucky hissed. 

Steve turned Bucky to face him, still holding onto his gun hand. “You’re alive?” he whispered. 

Bucky forced his eyes away from Pierce, his gaze turning soft as he met Steve’s. “So are you.” 

He didn’t give a flying shit if it was the hand of God himself. He yanked Bucky toward him and kissed him fiercely, molding their mouths into one. Steve didn’t know if he managed to get every ounce of relief and happiness he felt into the kiss, but he sure as hell tried. It left him breathless and giddy as he held onto the brunet, desperate to make sure it wasn’t a dream. 

“I’m okay, are you?” Bucky asked weakly, some of the hardness leaving his face. 

“Bumps, bruises, I’ve had worse,” Steve assured him. 

Bucky smiled. “Then let’s finish this and be done with it.” 

Steve shook his head. “No, don’t Buck. I know me holding you back almost got us killed…” 

“Or worse,” Bucky hissed. 

“But don’t.” Gently, he pried the gun from Bucky’s fingers. 

“Make the symbolic choice, right?” Bucky asked, releasing it. 

Steve couldn’t find the words to answer him. He nodded, reaching out and giving Bucky’s shoulder a squeeze. 

But then it all happened so fast. 

Bucky’s eyes widened at something past Steve’s arm. Reflex and years of training flowed through Steve’s mind all at once. He yanked Bucky to the side with him and spun, gun raised. Pierce’s weapon went off and the two bullets that shot from his gun missed them both by a hair’s inch. Apparently, there had been a holster somewhere on the man, and Steve had almost forgotten all about him. Pierce hadn’t, but apparently was a good businessman and criminal, but a terrible shot. 

Steve, however, was not. 

The roar of the gun filled the room, and two holes appeared in Pierce’s chest. The stains of red blossomed like a painting brought to life. The man gave a low gasp, his free hand coming up to his chest, clutching at himself desperately. Steve stared at him, feeling nothing as Pierce’s mouth worked soundlessly. He simply watched as the graying man dropped to one knee, wobbled, and collapsed backward, into the shadows. 

Tucked beneath Steve’s arm, Bucky let out a slow breath. “Holy… nice shot.” 

Steve looked down at the gun. “Thanks, I guess.” 

“So much for not killing him,” Bucky added. 

Steve turned back to him, smiling. “Self-defense isn’t the same as assassination or murder. Plus, I didn’t really...choose.” 

“Just happened, huh?” Bucky asked with a small smile. 

Steve’s body clenched seeing it, having thought he’d never see the sight again. The brunet in his arms seemed so fragile now, nowhere near as invincible as he liked to appear. Even in the low light of the room he could see the small cuts and bruises that were splattered across Bucky’s face. It made him so angry to see that he couldn’t protect Bucky, having put him in danger even more so than he already had been. The only reason Bucky had ever been found was because Steve had brought him in, had  _ kept  _ him. He swore to himself now that for as long as he could, he’d never let it happen again. The need to protect the man in his arms was so fierce that Steve swore he could explode. 

It made him remember their current surroundings all the much faster. His fingers clutched at Bucky’s body as he looked over his shoulders toward the door. “Guards?” he asked. 

“Just a couple upstairs, and one on the stairs. Don’t worry, they’re not dead.” 

Steve tucked the gun away after turning the safety on. Without missing a beat, he pulled Bucky back against him once more and kissed him fiercely. Bucky clung tightly to him, pressing his smaller body firmly against Steve’s and for a moment, Steve was able to forget they were in some dingy, nasty building near the body of a man who’d tried to kill and sell them. 

Steve broke away with a gasp when the need for oxygen became too much. “God, I thought you were dead.” 

“I wasn’t sure if I could get here in time. If he’d killed you or…” Bucky couldn’t finish, shaking his head. 

“Not much of a problem now,” Steve said. 

Bucky leaned his head forward and pressed his forehead to Steve’s sternum. “When I thought you were dead, I just…” 

Steve nodded, resting his head on Bucky’s and enclosing his arms around the brunet’s slim waist. He knew what Bucky meant. Even though he’d only been awake for a little while, the knowledge of Bucky’s death had threatened to swallow him whole. The relief of knowing the other man was alive and well was even greater, though, and he was happy to focus on that. 

Until the smell hit his nose. 

Steve sniffed, looking around at the room that was no longer as dark as it had been. “You smell that?” 

Bucky pulled back, eyes widening again. “Oh.” 

Steve whirled around to see what Bucky was looking at and froze. “Fuck.” 

Fire glowed at the back of the room. He couldn’t be completely sure what the cigar had struck, but he was guessing it was the culprit. A pile of furniture was already burning, and it was spreading to the wooden shelving on the walls. There was enough light from the flames for Steve to see the ceiling was made of wood, very dry looking wood. 

“We should get out of here,” Bucky said, backing up and tugging Steve’s arm. 

“Yeah, I’m definitely not going to argue,” Steve said, following him. They hurried up the stairs and Bucky hopped over the unconscious form of a man slumped over halfway up. Steve almost did the same, but with a grimace, bent down and picked the man up, throwing him over his shoulders. 

“Seriously?” Bucky asked. 

“I’m not going to let the stupid fuck burn to death.” As if on cue, the man stirred to life on Steve’s shoulders as he and Bucky ran into what looked like a lobby. Or at least, it had once been a lobby. The front desk was still there, but the benches and chairs were strewn about in pieces, and cobwebs hung from the fake chandelier overhead. The man squirmed, and Steve dropped him. 

The guard groaned, eyes opening and peering up at Steve. “Oh shit,” the man said, realizing who Steve was. 

“That’s one way of putting it,” Bucky muttered. 

Steve bent down and grabbed the man by the collar of his vest, shaking him. “Look, the whole basement is about to catch on fire. Get you and your buddies out of here.” 

“And try forgetting who the fuck we are, or I might have to remember who you are,” Bucky said with sneer. 

“But--,” the man began. 

Steve cut him off. “Your boss is dead, and you’re going to be too unless you get your ass out of here. So get moving, or burn to death, that’s on you.” 

He felt Bucky’s hands wrap around his arms again, tugging. “Steve c’mon, I don’t want to be here when the fire department shows up,” Bucky said, eyeing the stairs behind them. Smoke was beginning to seep up from the basement. The fire was spreading even quicker than Steve thought it would. He remembered Pierce saying that he used this old fake lodge for his stations every now and then. He really hoped the man didn’t keep any natural gas running to the place, or there would be an even bigger mess for someone else to clean up. 

“Yeah,” Steve said as he took to his feet. “Let’s go home.”

* * *

Bucky

* * *

He let the hot water of Steve’s shower beat down on his sore and bruised back. 

Separate showers seemed the safer option for the two of them. Not that Bucky thought they were in any danger of doing anything they weren’t supposed to be doing, rather, he’d never felt more tired and unsexy in his life. It would certainly keep them from bumping into one another, and they were both beat up enough as it was. 

He closed his eyes, sagging against the opposite wall. They were safe for the moment. He wasn’t so sure they should have let the men in the building see their faces, or even live knowing who they were but Steve was insistent that it would be fine, and Bucky had been too tired to argue with the man. And honestly, he was just glad he was alive and well. 

Smiling, he flipped the shower off and grabbed the towel outside the tub to dry himself. Somewhere in the apartment, Steve was waiting for him. Bucky couldn't remember a time when he’d ever had someone just...waiting for him. Steve had truly seen him, knew what kind of person he was, and still wanted him. Even better, Steve believed there was something  _ worth  _ saving in him. 

Even though Pierce had planned to sell Steve like cattle, the man still refused to let Bucky soil his hands out of anger. He only hoped he could live up to the belief Steve had in him. 

Bucky opened the bathroom door, letting the steam billow out. A glance to the right told him Steve wasn’t in the bedroom. He could just make out the soft sound of the TV, though, and followed it to its source. He had expected to find Steve asleep on the couch, but instead, the man was wrapped up in a blanket, sprawled out and staring at the TV. 

The blond looked up when Bucky entered, beaming. “Hey, you. Have a good shower?”

“Felt like I was getting beat up a little the whole time, but it was worth it,” Bucky told him, patting the towel wrapped around his waist. 

Steve motioned him close. “Come cuddle up with me.”

Bucky chuckled. “I’m still wet from the shower and I’m also naked.” 

“It’s a leather couch for one, and secondly,” Steve said with a grin, opening the towel. “So am I.” 

Bucky looked over Steve’s naked body, torn between concern and arousal. It was a sight to see, Steve naked and exposed. He was really hoping that he never grew tired of the view and that Steve was happy to invite him for naked cuddles just as easily in the future. What bothered him was the sight of the black and blue bruises littering the man’s broad chest, abdomen, and thick arms. 

“Maybe we should go get that looked at,” Bucky muttered, eyeing the marks. 

Steve only shook his head, holding out his hand. “Quit worrying about me. I’ve been injured enough times in my life to know when I’m going to be okay and when I’m not. I’ll be sore for a few days, but that’s about it.” 

Bucky wanted to disagree, but the lure of sitting down and being wrapped up by Steve in the process won over. He pulled his towel off, tossing it onto the tiled floor of the hallway. He didn’t miss the way Steve’s eyes swept over his body, or the way a certain part of Steve’s body got a little more attentive. 

But then he was pulled down onto Steve’s lap. Sure enough, he felt the man stiffen, pressing against his back. It made Bucky smile, but more so when he felt Steve’s strong arms wrap around him and squeeze him tight. There would be enough time after a good long rest for the two of them to deal with Steve’s growing problem. For now, though, he was happy to be wrapped up in the man’s arms, where he felt content and satisfied for the first time in a very long time. 

Steve’s breath ghosted against his neck. “We made the news.” 

Bucky’s head jerked up to look at the TV. “ _ What _ ?” His brain started to fire a million miles a second, starting to plan--

Steve’s hand squeezed his thigh. “Not us personally.” The screen showed a reporter standing on the side of the road, smoke thick in the air behind him. The bottom read ‘Fire at abandoned hotel; second explosion in a day.’ 

Steve reached out to grab the remote and turn the TV up, and the reporter’s voice came through clear. “Authorities aren’t sure precisely what caused the fire, but they believe the explosion was the cause of a gas main accidentally being left on in the building. They are also unsure if the explosion here and the one at a local motel on Fifth street are connected. They have assured us the building here has been abandoned for many months and that it’s unlikely there was anyone inside. We do, however, regret to inform you that the inhabitant of the motel downtown has not shown up and is presumed to have died.” 

“Oh shit,” Bucky whispered. 

“Hm?” 

“I totally forgot to tell the people at the front desk that I was alive. They think I’m dead,” Bucky said with a laugh. 

“Did they have your actual name?” 

Bucky frowned. “Well, no.” 

“Was it even a real person?” 

“Fuck if I know. The name probably was, though the picture was of me.” 

“Will they have it on file?” 

He shook his head. “They didn’t bother copying anything, just wanted it to make sure the name was the same as on the card I gave them. They’ll be looking for the wrong person.” 

Steve pulled him closer, making them press flush together. “Well, I, for one, am glad you’re not dead.” 

“And I’m glad to be alive too,” Bucky chuckled. He stopped then, realizing, at that moment, he’d deftly swerved around Steve’s comment as though it was second nature. Taking a deep breath, he shook his head, telling himself that if he was going to do this, he had to start trying to be the sort of person Steve deserved. “No, that’s not right,” he admitted. 

“Hm, what’s not?” Steve asked, looking up with a frown. 

Bucky looked at him, forcing himself to look Steve dead on. “I mean that when I thought you were dead, it felt like someone ripped my chest out. We barely know each other, but you know more about me than anyone alive as far as I know. And that would be enough to send most people screaming, but you just...look past that and see something else. You’re the best thing to happen to me in years, and it felt like my last shred of hope was turned into mulch and set on fire.” 

Steve’s eyes were wide, and he reached up gently to stroke Bucky’s cheek. “And you really think that, with a reaction like that, you aren’t better than you think you are?” 

“I don’t think being hurt by loss is all that selfless a thing,” he murmured. 

“Buck. It’s human. It means you cared, it means you got close enough to someone to be hurt in the first place. It means you’re capable of love and compassion. You don’t have to be the tool your bosses made you into. You can be free,” Steve said, smiling wide. 

But Bucky himself wasn’t so sure if that was the case. He’d been alone for so long, wandering a world of shadows and blood, it was hard to see Steve’s words as true. That didn’t mean he didn’t find himself hoping it  _ was  _ true. If that sort of world meant he could feel what he felt with Steve, then maybe there was something, and it was worth having.  _ Steve  _ was worth having. 

He sank into the warmth of Steve, kissing him softly. The strength of the man’s body against him was comforting, but it was the strength of the man’s heart that really comforted Bucky. With this sort of man by his side, Bucky wondered if maybe he could get through just about anything, because it certainly felt like it

A sharp noise brought Bucky’s head up, and he frowned at the phone as it buzzed across the table. With an annoyed groan, he snatched it up and handed it to Steve. Steve frowned at it. “Not anyone I know.” 

Bucky’s brows furrowed and he brought the phone up to look at the number across the screen. He stared at it, ice trickling into his gut. “Answer it.” 

Steve raised a brow but did it. “Hello? Uh, yeah, this is...you...what? Uh, okay…” With a confused look on his face, Steve pulled the phone away from his ear. He pressed a button, and an all too familiar voice came from the screen. 

“Just to confirm, this is, in fact, Steven Grant Rogers, correct?” Widow asked in her clipped voice. “Who I am is not important. What is important is that for all intents and purposes, you are essentially the last kin of James Barnes,” she continued. 

“I’m what?” Steve asked, eyes wide. Bucky shook his head, giving a shrug. He had no idea what she was talking about either, and he sure as hell didn’t know how she even knew about Steve in the first place. The fear in his gut was growing into a cramp, and he began to wonder how long they had until an operative showed up on their doorstep. God, he was going to have to run to keep Steve safe, wasn’t he? 

Widow cleared her throat. “Yes. James Barnes had no family, and up until recently, had no interpersonal relationships to speak of. You are the closest I have to inform.” 

“Of?” Steve asked faintly. 

“I regret to inform you that in the line of duty, James tragically lost his life today. We’ve confirmed this on our end, and I have forwarded the report. As far as we are concerned, James is lost to us, and all records of him will be dealt with accordingly,” Widow told him. 

“I...oh?” Steve managed. It was then that Bucky realized that she wasn’t talking to Steve. No, she had to know Bucky was sitting right there and was actually telling him, instead. The Red Room believed he was dead. Widow had considered the explosion at the hotel as Bucky faking his own death and leaped on it immediately. It had been the last thing on his mind but damned if luck wasn’t still working in his favor. 

“I also would like to inform you that all of James’ financial records kept associated with the Red Room have been passed over directly into your bank account. Can you check for me now to make sure the funds have been passed over?” 

Bucky was already reaching over and pulling Steve’s laptop open, handing it to the blond so that he could access his own bank account. It took a brief minute for Steve to get to the proper place but when he did, his jaw was dropping open. Bucky took liberty and peered at the screen. As of three minutes ago, ten million dollars had been deposited straight into Steve’s account. In a bit of shock, Steve glanced at him, and Bucky nodded his head to confirm. That was all the money he had connected to his Red Room account, because he’d always been too paranoid to keep it all in one place. He knew for a fact that he had about twenty million more scattered across three other accounts that Red Room knew nothing about. 

Steve lifted a hand and started carding through his hair, his gaze switching from his laptop screen to Bucky, then back again. “That’s…” he said, staring at Bucky. “Yes, the funds have been passed over.” 

“Good. To that end, I’m deeply sorry to have brought this news to you, and to remind you that the work James did was and will forever remain classified.” 

Steve cleared his throat. “Right, yes, of course. Thank you for telling me.” 

“Of course. Then with that business, I’ll allow you to get back to your life Mr. Rogers. And...take care.” The last was said softly, and with more genuine emotion than Bucky had ever heard from the woman before. It was meant for him, he knew.

Steve ended the call, his eyes never leaving Bucky’s face. “What… Buck, what just happened?” 

Bucky stared at the phone, unexpectedly touched by Widow’s final farewell to him. He had no idea how she even knew about Steve or why she had cared enough to try and help him. They were mysteries he might never solve, but he found himself grateful to her. Wherever she was, he truly hoped she knew what she’d done for him. “I’ve...been freed,” he said softly. 

Steve’s eyes widened. “What?” 

Bucky nodded. “I guess the news wasn't the only ones who thought I died in that explosion. I guess she knew where I was by keeping track of my cellphone. I was on the phone with her when the explosion went off, and we were cut off. She probably saw the news and…” 

“Thought you died,” Steve finished. 

Bucky closed his eyes, shaking his head and smiling. “No. She thinks I faked it. But she’s giving me the chance to be free. Everything about me will be wiped from their records, one last loose end that could be traced back to them. I’m free, Steve. I’m done.” 

“Free,” Steve repeated. 

“Free,” Bucky assured him. The last loose end, tied up and thrown away to never bother him again. He still had no idea if there was even a chance he could do this, if he even had it in him. But damn, just looking at the growing joy on Steve’s face made him ready to take on the world in order to try. 

Steve let out a whoop, crushing Bucky with a huge hug. He squawked as he was squeezed hard, unable to do more than wriggle as Steve held him. Bucky wrapped his own arms around Steve’s neck, returning the squeeze. 

When Steve pulled him back, Bucky couldn’t name a time he’d ever seen someone so happy. “Be with me,” Steve said, turning serious all of a sudden. “Stay with me. I want this, Buck, and if you want it to, then let’s do this. Let’s live like normal people, together, Buck.” 

Give up a life of loneliness and bitterness? Throw aside always having to look over his shoulder, refusing to trust anyone. To take instead a world where he could take real comfort in the touch of Steve, the thrill of Steve inside him, the warmth of the man’s very presence? 

Bucky’s hands found the sides of Steve’s face, holding him close. He took in the blue of Steve’s eyes that seeped into his own. He wanted it, too. So badly. “Of course I want it,” he whispered. He pressed them together, captured Steve’s lips, and knew instantly that it was the easiest choice he’d ever made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can definitely expect a fluffy domestic Epilogue to finish up this story :)


End file.
